


Alliances

by menel



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angelic Possession, Blood Magic, Dubious Consent, Escape, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 14:20:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 45,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2624942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Held prisoner in Gabriel’s eyrie gives Alex a lot of time to reflect, especially on his turbulent relationship with Michael. Meanwhile, the Archangel in question is done wallowing in self-pity at his own failure and is regrouping. First up on his agenda? Forging a new alliance in order to get the Chosen One back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: Post-Season 1
> 
> For those of you who like mental casting, I picture Alexander Skarsgard as Ithuriel.

Michael licked his wounds in the Nevada desert. His failure was almost incomprehensible to him, as was his complete loss of control. How easy it had been for Gabriel to manipulate him. His brother had always known how to push his buttons, but even Gabriel had outdone himself this time when the stakes were at their highest. Gabriel’s deceit and cunning was something to be admired – grudgingly, so – and his infiltration of Vega had been beyond Michael’s imagining. The Black Acolytes were no secret, at least not to Michael, but Gabriel had had followers at every level of the city, even within the _Archangel Corps_. Vega had been compromised and Michael could not return, not after the death of the Second Consul of the Senate at his hands, a Senator who had once been his lover. 

His thoughts drifted to Alex and the look of betrayal on his young charge’s face. In the lurid green lighting of the underground Thorn medical lab, Alex had looked stricken by what he’d done. Their fight, brief as it had been, smacked of inevitability. He and Alex were still at odds, even as Alex had come to accept him as his teacher, even as they had grown closer through Alex’s training, even after they had become lovers. If Gabriel’s goal had been to drive a wedge between them in order to force Alex to turn to him, then Gabriel had emphatically succeeded. 

Michael ruminated on how all this had come to pass. If Father were still around, his punishment would have been swift and decisive. God was not as merciful as humans often liked to imagine, especially in the time before the Extermination War. But Father was no longer with them and Michael was left to wallow in his own self-pity. But the Prince of Heaven was not the type to give up, not when nothing less than the fate of humanity was at stake. So after wallowing in self-pity for a month the Archangel moved to one of his safe houses up in the North. Uriel had long since vacated the San Francisco Public Library, which she had made her temporary home. Michael understood without a doubt that Uriel had played both sides and had ultimately sworn her sword to Gabriel. He also knew that Gabriel was a fool if his brother believed that Uriel did not have her own agenda. Their sister had always been unpredictable. A wild card. But Michael had his own wild card, and it was time to play it. 

The safe house that he favored was located on a promontory high above the San Francisco bay overlooking what was now the ruin of the once magnificent Golden Gate Bridge. The mansion, with its open spaces and wide bay windows, had belonged to one of the wealthiest art magnates of the country. Hidden within its vaults were some of the most significant pieces of human art history. It was here Michael had found the Vermeer that he had offered to Uriel in exchange for her silence on Alex’s tattoos. 

Michael did not share Uriel’s love for human art. He had a more general appreciation of humanity’s triumphs, as well as its failures. But what truly separated him from the other angels of higher rank, even among his fellow Archangels, was his compassion for the human race. It was this compassion that would not allow him to abandon humanity now, despite his own mistakes. 

When his visitor arrived two weeks after Michael had transferred to the city by the bay, he was not surprised. Michael walked down the long curved staircase, dark eyes on the figure down on one knee at the center of what had been a grand entrance lobby. His visitor had flown in through the open skylight, which was also Michael’s preferred way of entering the mansion. 

“Are we still standing on such ceremony?” Michael asked, stopping on the final step of the staircase, his black wings stretched out behind him. 

The kneeling guest took the question as a cue to stand up and he did, slowly, his own wings unfurling in response but in a more submissive gesture. It was a sign of respect. 

“Respect should be given where it is due . . . General.”

Michael shook his head, his wings folding neatly behind him. “We are well beyond that, Ithuriel,” he replied. “What do you have to report?” 

Ithuriel, who had been under Michael’s command for millennia, folded his wings behind him as well. At his full height, he was two feet taller than Michael with fair features and blue-green eyes that reflected the sea. Ithuriel looked as though he were one of the human Nordic gods brought to life and indeed, he would not have been out of place among that mythology’s great warriors. 

The higher angel fell into step beside Michael as they walked toward one of the open balconies leading to a garden patio beyond. 

“The Chosen One is with Gabriel, as you suspected,” Ithuriel began. “He is unharmed . . . for now.” 

“And Noma?” 

“She remains Gabriel’s prisoner.”

“What does my brother hold over Alex?” When the other angel didn’t respond, Michael gave him a long look. “Alex would not go to Gabriel willingly, even with my failure.” 

Ithuriel acknowledged this statement with a deferential nod. “Gabriel has threatened the life of his unborn child and of the child’s mother,” he replied. 

Michael nodded. “Claire Reisen,” he said thoughtfully, as though he were speaking to himself.

“She is now the Lady of the City,” Ithuriel informed him. “She has consolidated her power since Gabriel’s attack.” 

“And the General?” 

“General Reisen departed before Gabriel’s surrender. We have kept watch over him as you ordered. He is unaware, but his wanderings have brought him close to the Tribe. Should we intervene if he makes contact with them?”

Michael considered this. “No,” he said eventually. “Maintain your distance. Do not intervene unless the Tribe threatens him. Reisen must not be harmed. He may still be useful to our cause.” 

“His heart is failing him.”

“Yes,” Michael agreed. “But the General is also stronger than his doctors have given him credit for in the past. He may yet live longer than they predicted.” 

“And Vega?” 

“Vega is in good hands. Gabriel’s spies still walk within the city’s walls, but Claire Reisen will be a formidable force once she comes into her own.” 

“You will not return there?” 

“Not in the foreseeable future.”

The two angels were now standing in the garden overlooking the bay. Michael briefly closed his eyes as a cool wind blew across from the open sea. It was so peaceful here. One could almost forget the war. Almost. 

“And Helena?” he inquired, opening his eyes again. 

“Helena has formed an alliance with Vega.” 

“But?” Michael prodded, recognizing the hesitancy in Ithuriel’s tone. 

“But it has also been confirmed that your sister is there. Uriel has been hiding as a priestess among them.”

“Then Helena’s true motivations remain unknown,” Michael surmised. An alliance with Vega while Uriel had sworn her sword to Gabriel. His sister was up to her old tricks. He turned to Ithuriel. 

“It is time.”


	2. Chapter 2

Among the three human settlements that sprouted in the cradle since the end of the Extermination War, New Delphi was the city furthest from Vega. Each city possessed a distinct temperament and character. Vega was known for its highly stratified society, its technological and medical advances, its military and the towering fortress walls that protected the city from eight-balls and other external enemies. Helena, by contrast, was by the sea, a matriarchal society ruled over by its benevolent queen. Little was known about Helena, but one of the rumors was that their female children were trained as warriors from the age of ten. Then there was New Delphi, a mountain stronghold located at the northernmost tip of the cradle. New Delphi was the polar opposite of Vega. It was a city not bound by custom, laws or government. It had become a haven for criminals, outcasts and those more ‘independently spirited.’ It was to this city that Michael and Ithuriel journeyed. 

“I am known as Tyrol here,” Ithuriel told Michael as they neared the outlying farmlands of New Delphi. 

“A great battle,” Michael commented as they walked. They had flown the majority of the distance from California, but had gone on foot once they approached the fluid boundaries of New Delphi. 

Ithuriel inclined his head in acknowledgement. He knew that Michael would recognize the reference. “It is an allusion to a former life,” he said. 

Michael stopped both of them with a hand on Ithuriel’s shoulder. “It is a life we will have again,” he told his old friend. “When Father returns.” 

Ithuriel nodded, a gleam in his blue-green eyes. “When Father returns,” he repeated. It was Michael’s conviction that had always made the Archangel easy to follow in battle. This time was no different. 

“Tell me more about New Delphi,” Michael was saying as they fell into step again. “How is it organized?”

“Contrary to popular belief,” Ithuriel began, “New Delphi _is_ organized. The stories told about the city’s independent spirit and criminality are true, but what those stories don’t say is what a tight community New Delphi is.” 

“The proverbial honor among thieves,” Michael commented. It was a familiar story. 

“These lands,” Ithuriel continued, gesturing at the fertile farmland that they were walking amidst, “belong to the guilds. The families that work these lands give a portion of their harvest to their guild masters. In exchange, the guild provides protection and allows them to trade in the city.” 

“New Delphi is a feudal society then,” Michael surmised. 

“For the most part, yes,” Ithuriel confirmed. “The city proper is divided into districts or quarters, each one under the control of a particular guild. Within a quarter, the guild is the ultimate law.” 

“How many guilds are there?” 

“Ten.” 

“Ten guilds,” Michael noted. “They would be equivalent to the sixteen founding families of Vega.” 

“That would be accurate.” 

“And do these guilds form a council of sorts? To determine policy for the city?” 

“No, not the way the Senate works in Vega. Each guild has complete control over its own district. Policy, leniency – if it exists – and laws vary from guild to guild.” 

“How are disputes among districts settled? I hardly imagine the inhabitants of New Delphi live in perfect harmony.” 

“No, they do not,” Ithuriel replied, holding back a laugh. “Disputes are brought before Pythia, the most powerful among the Guild masters. You could say she is our ‘Lady of the City.’” 

“Pythia,” Michael repeated. “Is that what she calls herself here?” 

“Yes.”

“Appropriate, I suppose,” Michael mused. “Given that the city has been christened _New_ Delphi. In that way, Pythia would be the city’s oracle.” He glanced at his companion. “Have you seen her?” 

“I see her frequently,” Ithuriel answered. “Our guilds often work closely together.” 

“Convenient,” Michael said. “She knows who you are, of course.” 

“Of course,” Ithuriel said with a nod. “But she has not questioned my loyalty.” 

“She’s always believed in the philosophy of keeping one’s friends close and one’s enemies closer.” 

“Do you truly think she sees us as her enemy?” 

“We shall find out soon enough.” 

Michael stopped when he noticed that his companion had stopped as well and he threw him a questioning look.

“It is getting late,” Ithuriel explained. “We could spend the night here,” he suggested, motioning towards a small farmhouse. They were standing outside its gate. “This farmhouse belongs to my guild and Anita makes a very good hot stew. Or we could journey on to the city and stay there if you wish. It does not really matter. Pythia’s spies have no doubt informed her that we are here.” 

“This farmhouse will do,” Michael said, pushing open the small wooden gate. “You have not told me to which Guild you belong,” he commented as the two of them walked up the pathway to the farmhouse’s door. He could see people stirring behind the lighted front window. The family was aware that they were about to have guests. 

“I would have thought that would have been obvious,” Ithuriel scoffed, sounding vaguely offended. 

Michael smiled to himself. “It is,” he agreed. “My Master Assassin.”

* * * * *

Alex paced his rather large cell. Gabriel’s mountain fortress was large and surprisingly luxurious, especially if Alex’s quarters were anything to go by. Gabriel refused to call Alex’s room a prison cell (“Are you not here of your own volition?” the Archangel had mockingly asked him. “More like coercion,” Alex had stonily replied), but for all its comforts (it was more comfortable than the barracks at the Archangel Corps) and the fact that there were no bars on the windows (there were no actual windows), Alex saw it for what it was. He was guarded day and night and he never left the cell without an escort. Furiad seemed to pull a lot of guard duty around Alex and the latter wasn’t sure if this was a punishment of some sort for Gabriel’s lieutenant or if Alex was important enough to merit a guard of Furiad’s stature. Alex supposed it was a bit of both. Gabriel had never really fallen for their plan to trap him. Sending Noma to him as a messenger had been a gamble, one that both he and Michael had lost.

 _Michael_. 

Whatever anger, resentment and feelings of betrayal Alex had harbored against the Archangel had bled away by his third week in captivity. He often thought of Michael now and wondered how they could have done things differently, if other choices would have led to the same outcome. Michael always said that his path was not set in stone. It pained him to think that Gabriel had outsmarted them. But the war was far from over. Of that Alex was certain. The two sides were at a stalemate, a de facto truce while Gabriel tried to make sense of the tattoos. Meanwhile, Alex was biding his time until he could be reunited with Michael again. He didn’t know how that would happen or when, but in his heart he knew it to be true. The one thing his time with Gabriel had confirmed for him was that his destiny did not lay with Gabriel as his guide, but with Michael.

The tattoos themselves had become oddly silent. Alex had not felt their shifting burn in weeks, not since he and Michael had parted ways. It made him wonder if the tattoos were connected to Michael in some way (the Archangel, after all, had borne the same tattoos on his body before they had transferred to Jeep). Or perhaps the tattoos were sentient and they disapproved of Alex’s choice in going to Gabriel. They were silent as a means of punishing him. They felt cool on his body and Alex never believed he would say this, but he missed their burning. He’d thought that the tattoos might be able to help him escape Gabriel’s eyrie, but they seemed to have abandoned him too. 

Uriel paid him several visits, each time with charcoal and large pieces of drawing paper. She was also fascinated by the tattoos. Alex recalled how Michael had mentioned Uriel’s passion for art and he soon saw for himself that she was a skillful artist. He had no choice but to sit there like some kind of model as Uriel carefully copied the tattoos, her papers spread out on the floor before her. As soon as Alex understood that Uriel had betrayed Michael, he refused to speak to her. But on her fourth visit, he finally caved, the silence of the tattoos and his own loneliness pulling a question out of him.

“Can you read them?” 

Uriel looked up from her drawing in surprise, red lips slicing into a sharp smile. “No,” she said in the unusual accent Alex remembered. “But it is only a matter of time.” 

Alex shrugged. Her answer hadn’t surprised him. “If you say so,” he said indifferently, looking away. He heard the rustle of paper as Uriel stood up. 

“Contrary to what Michael has told you,” Uriel said, invading his personal space. “The tattoos are not meant for you alone, Chosen One.” 

Alex looked the Archangel in the eye, his defiance coming to the fore. “The tattoos foretell _all_ our fates,” he emphasized. “Your kind as well as mine.” 

Uriel laughed, stepping away from him with a shake of her head. “So defensive of Michael,” she marveled. “Even after he betrayed you.” 

Alex didn’t flinch. He’d had a lot of practice with Michael on how not to wilt under an Archangel’s scrutiny. “Like you have any right to talk about betrayal,” he threw back at her. “Not after what you did to Michael.” 

“That was not betrayal,” Uriel spat, eyes flashing with sudden anger. “I pitted my brothers against each other and sided with the stronger one. Survival of the fittest, no?” 

“Then you sided with the wrong one.” 

Uriel’s anger evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. She laughed again. “Michael has lost his way,” she told him pityingly. “And he is not coming for you.” She stepped toward him again, placing a hand on his chest. Even through the material of his shirt, her touch made Alex’s skin crawl. “Stop fighting, Gabriel,” she whispered seductively. “My brother can help you, can be your guide, if you will only submit.” 

“Submit what?” Alex asked, his defiance not fading. 

Uriel’s dark eyes glittered. “I think you know,” she replied.

* * * * *

Alex was dreaming again. He dreamed a lot in the eyrie. Almost all his dreams were of Michael. The dreams were often based on snatches of memory. This time they were in the Stratosphere after a day of training. (He missed the training.) He’d taken to using the Archangel’s shower for convenience. (It was difficult keeping the tattoos hidden when you were forced to use communal showers.) He was spending nearly all his time with Michael now, and in this instance he was unwilling to go back to the barracks just yet. The Archangel had not brought up the topic of Alex moving into the Stratosphere, but Alex thought he should just take the plunge. His relationship with Michael wasn’t traditional by any sense of the word. The worst that could happen would be Michael saying ‘no’ which, if Alex were being perfectly honest, he was getting used to at this point.

He was lying down on Michael’s obscenely enormous bed, his head on a pillow in the Archangel’s lap. Michael appeared to be meditating since his eyes were shut and his breathing had fallen into that even rhythm Alex associated with meditation, but he also had one hand in Alex’s hair, fingers carding gently through the strands so Alex knew that Michael’s attention wasn’t completely elsewhere. 

“That wasn’t fair today,” Alex said. 

“Hmm?” was Michael’s distracted response. 

“Using the sun to confuse and blind me.” 

Michael opened his eyes and glanced down. “Your enemies are not going to play fair, Alex,” he replied. “It was a lesson well learned.” 

“I do know how to shoot,” Alex continued, a little petulantly. “I’m actually a good marksman.” 

“If you weren’t, you would not have been selected for the Archangel Corps,” Michael reminded him. 

The comment placated Alex somewhat, but a discontented sigh still escaped him. 

“What is it?” Michael asked when Alex didn’t continue. 

_This was it_ , Alex thought. Take the plunge. 

“Do you think I could move up here with you?” 

“Is that what you want?” 

Alex sighed again. Sometimes he thought the angel was being purposefully obtuse. Plus, he had a habit of answering questions with questions, which meant that he wasn’t really answering questions at all. 

“I wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise,” Alex said, managing to keep his voice even. “There are practical reasons for it as well,” he added. “Convenience. Safety. You do want me to keep the tattoos hidden. Not to mention that we practically spend all our time together anyway.” He didn’t add that they’d started sleeping together too. 

“I would have thought that you’d want to spend more time with your friends,” Michael replied. “That you’d think we were spending _too_ much time together.”

Alex was startled by the Archangel’s reply. Not only was it a reasonable thing to say, but it also meant that Michael had given the matter some thought. 

“I s’ppose,” he said, a little uncertainly. “I guess that’s a ‘no’ then,” he added when a silence stretched between them and Michael had shut his eyes once more. 

“No.” 

“No?” 

This time it was Michael’s turn to sigh. “No, you can move in here if you want.” 

“No, I _can_ move in?” Alex repeated, unable to keep the teasing lilt out of his voice. 

“You are incorrigible,” Michael stated. 

“Shut up and kiss me,” Alex said, reaching up and pulling the Archangel down to him. 

It was an open-mouthed kiss as almost all their kisses were. But something about it was different. First of all, Michael hadn’t been wearing a shirt but Alex’s hand was fisted tightly in worn, soft leather. And then there was the taste. Michael always reminded him of the sea, but this kiss tasted different. Sweet and slightly sticky, like candy. It felt different too. Exploratory, like learning a new dance when he and Michael were the most fluid of dance partners. 

Abruptly, Alex’s eyes shot open. He practically bolted upright, shoving this stranger away from him as he scrambled to his feet. He remembered where he was. He must’ve fallen asleep on the sofa in his room. He turned around, wiping the taste of this stranger from his lips with the back of his hand as he did so. It was with dismay that he saw Gabriel sitting in one corner of the sofa, one arm outstretched on the sofa’s back while his other hand traced his lips thoughtfully. The Archangel looked insufferably smug. 

“Nice dream?” he asked. 

Alex didn’t reply. 

“Uriel suggested that there was something more going on between you and my brother,” Gabriel went on conversationally. “But I didn’t believe her. Michael may have his moments of weakness, especially of the flesh, but he would never cross that line with you.” Gabriel paused, his smugness transforming into something closer to deviousness. “It appears I was wrong.”

Still Alex didn’t say anything, but his expression had turned to stone. 

“It’s a very clever play,” Gabriel was saying thoughtfully, almost to himself. “One I didn’t think my brother was capable of.” 

Alex’s brow furrowed in spite of himself. What was Gabriel going on about? 

“You don’t agree?” Gabriel asked. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Michael, of course. The way he used you and then discarded you.”

Alex could feel himself tense. He didn’t believe a word of what Gabriel was saying, but it angered him nonetheless. 

“Can’t you see what Michael’s done?” Gabriel asked, affecting wonderment. “My brother is always praising humanity’s great capacity for love. What better way to bind you to him than through your love?” 

Alex frowned. That’s not how it was between them. Michael would never . . . 

“Never thought of it that way before,” Gabriel said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “I see.” 

“That’s not what it’s like,” Alex said, hating that he’d just confirmed his feelings for Michael to their mutual enemy. But his defense sounded weak to his own ears. 

“No?” Gabriel questioned. “Do you think my brother is even capable of returning your love?” 

When Alex didn’t respond, Gabriel stood up. “My brother is not coming for you, Alex,” he stated. “He has abandoned you. You should forget about him and start afresh. You have a destiny to fulfill.” 

“With you?” Alex couldn’t help but say scornfully. 

Gabriel stepped towards him. “Yes, with me,” he said. “I offer you everything I have, everything that is within my power to give. Join me, Alex, and we shall put an end to this war.” 

“You just want what Michael has,” Alex replied. “I hear envy is a sin.” 

Gabriel laughed. “I would never force you,” he said, amusement coloring his tone. 

“And I will never submit to you willingly.” 

“We shall see.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more mental casting, I see Naomie Harris playing Pythia, who is introduced in this chapter. 
> 
> I've also decided to bridge the mythology of the film _Legion_ and the TV show. If you've seen _Legion_ , then you'll have noticed that some of _Dominion_ 's mythology contradicts the basic premise of the movie. I hope to be able to reconcile those contradictions. 
> 
> Lastly, Michael's story and Alex's story do not run on parallel timelines, but said timelines will eventually intersect.

Michael and Ithuriel entered the city of New Delphi proper by mid-morning. Anita had sent them off with a large breakfast and it hadn’t taken Michael long to figure out that she and Ithuriel were sexual partners. (Ithuriel had spent the night in her room and one didn’t need an angel’s extra keen senses to hear the noises that emanated from their bedroom during the night.) Anita’s husband had been killed in a raid by marauders two years prior and since then Ithuriel had placed her family under his guild’s protection. Their previous guild master had not seen the value in the family once Anita’s husband had been killed. He had sought to take the farm by force, but Ithuriel’s intervention and Pythia’s subsequent approval had meant that Anita and her family would not be turned out of their home. Anita’s two oldest sons now maintained the farm; both boys were in their late teens. Michael had met them at dinner. They were fighters, strong and hardened, shaped by a life after the Extermination War. They reminded him of Alex.

The city of New Delphi hearkened back to an older time. Built into a mountain to act as a natural defensive position thanks to its high ground, most of the streets were angular and cobblestoned. It brought to mind those picturesque Eastern European villages that had long since disappeared, except that this picturesque ‘village’ was filled with thieves and other assorted criminals. Michael had come to believe that those who had survived the Extermination War represented the very best and the very worst of the human race. Vega and New Delphi would seem to prove his point. 

There were no guards at the gates and no visible checkpoints as they walked through the districts to Pythia’s quarter, but Michael was aware that their movements were being tracked. He was a stranger and in the tight knit community of New Delphi, strangers were watched carefully. 

“We’re here,” Ithuriel said, stopping in front of a brick red three story building with a varnished maroon door. “Are you sure you want to go in now?” 

Michael nodded. “This is what I came here for,” he replied. 

“My district is beside Pythia’s,” Ithuriel went on. “It’s only a few blocks away.”

“Are you so concerned that she’ll arrest me?” Michael asked, vaguely amused. 

“That would be inconvenient,” Ithuriel replied dryly. 

“Come,” the Archangel said encouragingly. “Let us pay our respects to the ‘Lady of the City.’”

* * * * *

After a quick search in which Michael’s twin blades were confiscated (Pythia’s guard had been unable to hide his admiration at the finely wrought blades), as was Ithuriel’s sleek scythed sword, the two guests were shown to Pythia’s spacious study and were left there to wait . . . and wait . . . and wait.

Ithuriel wandered around, hands clasped behind his back as he examined the artwork, the leather bound books, and the impressive array of ornamental weaponry in the room. It seemed a little redundant to take away their personal weapons when he and Michael could easily wield any of the weapons here. Ithuriel even recognized some of the ancient weaponry from battles he had fought in. Pythia was truly a collector. For his part, Michael stood calmly in the center of the room. He was used to waiting and it was not long before a preternatural stillness came over him, a tranquility that meant he had slipped into meditation. 

When a door opened and then shut in a far corner of the room (it was located at the opposite end of the ornate double doors that Michael and Ithuriel had entered), a lock clicked in Michael’s mind and he opened his eyes. He was aware of Ithuriel coming to stand at attention on his left, two steps behind him. It was the customary position for his lieutenant. 

Pythia looked magnificent, even more beautiful than the last time Michael had seen her. She swept in the room in her red and gold flowing robes, her hair a mass of frizzy curls, the colors of her clothes highlighting the burnished deep brown of her skin. Her dark eyes were bright and they zeroed in on Michael.

“Gentlemen,” she said, her rich voice filling the room. “My apologies for keeping you waiting. I was not expecting guests.” 

Both angels could hear the irony in her tone. Pythia had no doubt been expecting them since the night before. 

“Michael,” she said, addressing the Archangel without any preamble. “This is very brazen of you, but I would not expect anything less from the Prince of the Heavenly Host.” She tilted her head, stopping in front of him and regarding him thoughtfully. “The _fallen_ Prince of the Heavenly Host,” she amended. 

“You, too, are full of surprises,” Michael answered, his own gaze piercing. “ _Raphael_.” 

“What do you want, brother?” 

“I seek your assistance.” 

“I will not join your war.” 

“Neutrality is a thing of the past, as Gabriel has made abundantly clear.”

Raphael’s brow creased. Michael wondered if she had heard about what had happened to the neutral angels of Vega. He had assumed so, but perhaps Raphael was more isolated than he’d anticipated in her mountain stronghold. He decided to try a less forceful approach. Knowledge was the most powerful weapon of all. 

“You and I are not so very different.” 

The barest hint of a smile began to curve at the corner of Raphael’s lips. “How so?” 

“When Father closed the gates of Heaven you could have left with the others,” Michael began. “The dogs of heaven had no choice but to remain in this earthly realm, but you, Raphael, are not bound by those same rules. You could have left with Jophiel, Seraphiel, Metatron. But you chose to stay, to build this city and live among the humans. You rule them.” 

“It is no different from your position in Vega.” 

“It is very different,” Michael contradicted. “I do not meddle in the running of the city, in their petty politics. That is the purview of the Senate.” 

“No, you are merely their Protector. You guided General Reisen to victory. They would never have been able to defeat Gabriel without your aid.” Raphael smiled deviously. “I hear there is a statue in your honor in Vega. Michael, the Archangel holding the Chosen One in one arm with a flaming sword in your other hand.”

“It is not a very good likeness,” Michael deadpanned back.

Raphael laughed. “You are a god to them, Michael,” she said. “They worship you. They have built a new religion around that myth.” 

“It is not a myth,” Michael said, stepping towards his sister. “The Chosen One is real and he has been under my protection in Vega.” 

Raphael’s eyes flared with this new knowledge. “If this is so, why has he not revealed himself?” 

“It is complicated.” 

“Yes,” Raphael remarked with an uncharacteristic roll of her eyes. “It always is.” She paused, coming to a realization. “The Chosen One _has been_ under your protection,” she repeated. “Meaning he no longer is?” 

“He is with Gabriel.” 

Raphael arched an eyebrow. “An interesting development,” she commented. “A slight hiccup in your plans, dear brother?”

“You could say that. I have failed Alex,” Michael said soberly, “in the worst possible way. I must set things right.” 

“And that is why you are here,” Raphael filled in for him. “To ask for my help to get the Chosen One back.” 

“Yes.” 

Raphael smiled, but it was tinged with melancholy. She shook her head. “The Chosen One changes nothing. I will not join your war,” she repeated. 

“Do you really think Gabriel will leave New Delphi in peace?” Michael questioned. “He will destroy what you have built here. He will take New Delphi from you.” 

“Gabriel’s quarrel is not with New Delphi.” 

“No, Gabriel’s quarrel is with _all_ of humanity and whoever else stands in his way. This city is under your protection, is it not? Just as all the higher angels who have sought refuge here are also under your protection. They keep your secret and you keep theirs. Is that not how it works?” 

“It is the same in Vega.”

“It _was_ ,” Michael corrected. “But Gabriel has gone too far. He has found a way to possess not only eight-balls, but also higher angels. He possessed one of my closest friends. You remember Louis? Louis helped me monitor the neutral angels in Vega. Gabriel used his body to murder three angels, stringing them up in the city to create fear and panic among the citizens. Then he told the others to flee, explicitly against my orders, knowing that they would be cut down by the city’s anti-air defenses. He slaughtered them, Raphael. He slaughtered our own kind, just to prevent them from joining me.” 

Raphael’s face had grown hard as Michael spoke. “Gabriel may slaughter humans,” she objected. “But he would not hurt our species.” 

“He would and he has,” Michael said sternly. “Gabriel does not yet know of your presence, but once he finds out – and he will – do not think he will spare this city. Do not fail those under your protection as I have failed. Neutrality is no longer an option.” 

Raphael looked down and when she looked up again, Michael recognized the fire of defiance that burned in her eyes. “What if I sided with Gabriel?” she asked. “What if I joined his cause instead of yours?” 

Michael tilted his head and studied his sister. “I do not believe you will,” he said after a long moment. “You have lived among humans for over twenty years. You may not have my patience or compassion, but you have come to care for them in your own way. Do you truly believe humanity deserves to be wiped out?” 

“They are such flawed creatures, Michael,” Raphael answered, her voice dropping to a whisper. “How can Father call them his greatest creation?” 

“It is precisely because they are so flawed that they are so beautiful, so different from our perfection. Father gave them free will, something we have never possessed.” 

“But look what they have done with it,” Raphael challenged. “Perhaps Gabriel is right. Do they deserve to live?” 

“They are young,” Michael said. “Is our history so very different?” 

“We were following Father’s orders.” Raphael paused, looking her brother in the eye. “It is _your_ rebellion that started this war,” she told him, half-accusingly. 

“Yes,” Michael answered. “And I will finish it. Will you help me, sister?” 

A long silence stretched between the two Archangels. 

“What would you have me do?”

* * * * *

Alex had been in Gabriel’s eyrie for exactly one month. He understood now why prisoners scratched out the days on the walls of their cells. Keeping track of time was important, even if it did have the effect of reminding him that he was a prisoner.

On this one-month anniversary of his captivity, Alex was standing outside Gabriel’s private study with Furiad as his escort. Furiad was under orders to bring Alex to Gabriel’s study for another one of the Archangel’s ‘chats,’ which had become daily occurrences. (Did Gabriel really think he could wear Alex down with a congenial nice-guy routine? It was absurd, and too late in the game to be playing good cop-bad cop.) Since Furiad turned out to be a stickler for punctuality, he and Alex had arrived precisely on time to find the door to the study locked. Furiad had raised his hand to knock, but an angry loud voice had stayed the action. The two of them had exchanged looks. They both recognized that voice. 

Uriel. 

In a rare moment of tacit agreement, both the human and the angel stood quietly outside Gabriel’s door. Each, in their own way, was invested in the heated discussion on the other side. 

“You said he would come to you and he has,” Uriel was practically shouting. “But what are you doing with him?” 

“Biding my time,” Gabriel replied icily. 

“Biding . . . your . . . _time_?” 

“It is no small thing to earn his trust.” 

“I did not think you so naïve.” The derision in Uriel’s voice was clear. “He will not cooperate with you, no matter how hard you try to turn him against Michael. He is _in love_ with our brother.” 

At this, Alex felt Furiad’s gaze fall on him but he would not look at the angel. 

“Maybe Alex is right,” Uriel went on. “Maybe I did not side with the right brother.” 

“I did not think _you_ would give up so easily,” Gabriel said in a quieter tone, but the menace in his voice was unmistakable. 

“You are doing nothing,” Uriel hissed. “At least Michael was training him, and he _listened_. He _learned_.” 

“And what do you suggest? Some good old-fashioned torture?” 

“It would be something.” 

It was Gabriel’s turn to scoff. 

“Surely you have noticed that the tattoos have not shifted since he arrived.” 

“I would have thought that would please you,” Gabriel said with false amiability. “It gives you the opportunity to copy them faithfully and study them as you have long desired.” 

“Their silence _means_ something.” 

“Then you should find out what.” 

Abruptly, the door flew open. Alex was surprised by the action, but Furiad remained completely unperturbed. Uriel stood in the doorway and Alex swore that the Archangel had transformed into wrath personified. She would be fearsome in battle.

She glared at Alex before pushing in between the two of them, Furiad fluidly moving to the side and keeping his head deferentially bowed as the Archangel swept past. 

“Come in, Alex,” came Gabriel’s commanding voice. 

Uncertain why he did so, Alex looked at Furiad once more before entering Gabriel’s study. The higher angel’s expression was impassive, his eyes their customary fierce red. He held Alex’s gaze for a moment before moving position to stand guard at the door. Alex turned away, walking into the study and shutting the door behind him. 

“I suppose you heard all that pleasantness,” Gabriel was saying, arranging some throw pillows before sitting down on a brocade sofa. 

Alex didn’t bother to acknowledge the Archangel’s words. He strode into the room and instead of taking his customary seat in front of the Archangel, he remained standing and simply said, “I want to see Noma.” 

Gabriel, who had been examining the assorted sweets on the coffee table before him, glanced up. “Just like that?” he asked. “I want to see Noma?” 

“It’s been a month, Gabriel,” Alex said, watching as the Archangel selected a pink frosted donut with sprinkles. “How do I even know she’s still alive?” 

“Noma is perfectly fine,” Gabriel said airily, as though the topic bored him. 

“I want to see her,” Alex insisted. 

“And why should I let you?” 

Alex sat down in the matching brocade sofa opposite Gabriel. “It would be nice to see a friendly face,” Alex replied. “It’s getting a little lonely with just me and the guards.” 

“I admit Furiad’s conversation skills leave much to be desired,” Gabriel agreed. “But you wound me, Alex. Doesn’t _my_ company count for something?” 

Alex remained silent. 

“Or perhaps you just want a good fuck,” Gabriel went on crudely. At the flash of annoyance in Alex’s eyes, he smiled knowingly. “Oh yes, I heard about you and Michael’s lieutenant. You do get around, don’t you, Chosen One?” 

Still, Alex kept silent. 

“Oh, very well,” Gabriel said, dismissing the subject as he sat back with his frosted donut. “Have Furiad take you to see Noma after our ‘chat.’ Now strip. I want another look at those tattoos.”

* * * * *

After another trying session with Gabriel (the Archangel was also doing his best to decipher the tattoos), Furiad led Alex to a part of the eyrie that Alex hadn’t been before.

“Are we going to the dungeons?” Alex joked. 

Furiad didn’t reply, but the slight tensing of the angel’s shoulders told him that his joke hadn’t been off the mark. 

“You’ve been keeping Noma in the dungeons?” Alex asked, seriously now. 

At last Furiad acknowledged him. “She is unharmed.” 

Alex remembered how Furiad had fallen for Noma’s ploy to meet for a tryst at a motel. The angel was an emotionless wall with him but he suspected that Furiad still harbored feelings for Noma that went beyond getting laid. He’d meant it when he’d said that she was unharmed. 

The dungeons of the eyrie were much draftier than the central room where Alex spent most of his time. The path that Furiad was leading them down was lit by flickering torches at intervals.

“All rather medieval, isn’t it?” Alex commented. 

Furiad was giving him the silent treatment again, but then the angel stopped suddenly, motioning for Alex to go ahead. Alex stepped though an archway into a small alcove. 

“Alex?” 

“Nomes?” 

Alex immediately walked forward. Noma must have heard their approach, must have recognized their voices. He only took a few steps, his eyes adjusting to the dim lighting, before he saw the bars. Noma was there, one arm reaching out to him through the bars. Alex grasped her hand and she pulled him in. The hug was awkward and slightly painful, but Alex didn’t care. 

“You’re okay,” she said, her voice flooding with relief. 

“Doing a lot better than you,” Alex replied. 

“Yeah, their hospitality leaves a lot to be desired.” 

“I’m gonna get you out of here, Nomes.” 

Noma laughed. "Good luck with that," she said. "Gabriel’s not going to trust me.” 

“You’d be surprised what Gabriel is willing to do these days.” 

“Alex,” Noma said, her gaze shifting to Furiad who was still standing out in the hallway. She gripped his arm tightly and lowered her voice. “You mustn’t give in to him.” 

“I won’t,” Alex assured her. 

“And you mustn’t despair. We’re not alone here.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, Gabriel’s not the only one with spies.” 

“Do you know –” 

“No,” Noma quickly replied. “But Michael hasn’t forgotten about us. He will come for you, Alex.” 

Alex gave her a soft smile in the flickering firelight. 

“I know,” he said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how this happened but this chapter features dubious consent. Since rape is a major squick for me, this development is quite shocking but precisely because rape _is_ a major squick for me, things don't go too far. I think. I hope. You decide. The warning's there now.

Alex was able to get Noma moved out of the dungeons after some negotiating with Gabriel. The Archangel agreed to put Noma in a room near Alex’s, although Noma was also closely monitored with her own personal guard. (“It’s a waste of resources to keep the Chosen One happy,” Uriel had admonished her brother. “That’s for me to decide,” Gabriel had replied.) 

“I swear to you,” Alex told Gabriel. “Noma won’t try to escape.” 

“One thing Michael inspires in others – as you know very well – is loyalty,” Gabriel said. 

“She won’t cause any trouble,” Alex insisted. 

“I have dealt with Noma in the past and I know just how troublesome she can be.” 

“You have my word.” 

Gabriel’s eyes gleamed. “Perhaps that is good enough for Michael, but I want something else.” 

Alex steeled himself. This was it. The negotiations had begun. 

“What would that be?” he asked warily.

“More cooperation from you, Chosen One.” 

“It’s not my fault that I can’t read the tattoos.” 

“Perhaps you’re not _trying_ very hard.” 

Alex looked at the Archangel impatiently. “I don’t know how these tattoos work, okay?” he snapped. “They didn’t come with a manual.” 

“And yet you were able to make significant progress with Michael,” Gabriel pointed out. “They seemed to be ‘working’ then.” 

“Well, maybe you should ask _Michael_.” 

Gabriel’s lips pursed into a tight frown.

“Shouldn’t _you_ know what to do with these tattoos?” Alex pressed, forgetting that he was trying to appease the Archangel for Noma’s sake. “Wasn’t that the whole point of me coming here? So that you would replace Michael as my _guide_?” 

Suddenly Gabriel was very close, displaying a speed that Alex had temporarily forgotten the Archangel possessed. 

“Yes, Alex,” Gabriel whispered into his ear. “That is the point of this . . . _exercise_.” He pulled back so he could look into Alex’s eyes. “But you have not given me much to work with.” 

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to give,” Alex said, not flinching from the Archangel’s gaze.

They were so close that if either one of them leaned forward; they would be able to kiss the other. Alex could feel the tension in the air, but it was a very different kind of tension from what he shared with Michael. Alex used to call that sort of tension the ‘fight-or-fuck’ moment. Either alternative excited and thrilled him. Eventually, it became inevitable that either choice would end with them in bed. It just became a matter of how quickly they got there. But with Gabriel either choice in a ‘fight-or-fuck’ scenario would end badly for Alex. There was real danger here, a barely veiled menace. He would have to tread carefully and not push Gabriel too hard, lest the Archangel snapped. In his gut, Alex got the sense that he was running out of time. 

“How do you read the tattoos?” 

“I don’t know. I just do.” 

“HOW!” 

Gabriel had grabbed his wrist, holding him in a painful grip. Alex knew that the Archangel could snap every bone in his wrist in an instant.

“When they move,” Alex began, “the tattoos form words. Words only I can read and then they disappear. That’s all I know.” 

“What triggers these movements?” 

“What?” 

“Don’t be naïve, Alex. Do you really believe that the tattoos are random?” 

Actually, Alex had assumed they were but now that Gabriel was making him think about it . . . perhaps there was a pattern to be found. 

“When can you read the tattoos?” Gabriel pressed. “After certain events? In certain environments? With certain people?” 

Alex was really thinking now. The tattoos almost always spoke to him when he was around Michael. He suspected that Gabriel could read this revelation on his face. 

“It’s with my brother, isn’t it?” Gabriel supplied with a sly smile. 

“Not always,” Alex immediately contradicted. “There was that time I was alone in the desert,” he said. _But Michael had turned up immediately afterwards_ , his mind reminded him. “Another time when I was thrown in prison,” he added. _But the dream he’d had in prison had been of Michael too_. 

“But it usually happens when Michael’s around,” Gabriel persisted. “Am I right?” 

Alex tried to shrug casually. “Michael was training me,” he said. “We spent a lot of time together. If the tattoos shifted, there was a good chance he’d be around when it happened.” 

“Yes, but you were lovers too,” Gabriel said, his voice as smooth as silk. 

“The tattoos aren’t attached to Michael,” Alex defended, even though Gabriel was implying the very thing he’d been considering of late. “And if they were, then you’re in trouble because Michael _isn’t here_.” 

“The tattoos may not be directly related to Michael,” Gabriel mused. “But _you_ are attached to my brother. It’s those feelings for him that help you access the tattoos.”

Alex didn’t like where this was leading and he shifted. “So, what does that mean?” he asked uneasily. 

That unsettling gleam was back in Gabriel’s eyes. 

“A very good question,” the Archangel said enigmatically. He dropped Alex’s wrist and turned away. “I’ll have Noma transferred to a room near yours,” he said, his tone becoming conversational once more. “You should see more of her,” he continued. “You have a long history of friendship, camaraderie. Perhaps it will make you feel more at ease here. If you’re more at ease, maybe you’ll be able to read the tattoos again.” 

Alex knew he should say thanks but the word seemed to have gotten stuck in his throat. Even with Gabriel’s back to him, Alex could practically see the wheels turning in the Archangel’s mind. A scheming Gabriel was a dangerous Gabriel. Alex had seen firsthand the damage that the Archangel’s manipulations had caused.

“Is that all?” Gabriel asked when Alex said nothing. 

“I guess so.” 

“Well then, you should go tell Noma the good news.”

* * * * *

Michael was being given the grand tour of New Delphi by none other than the ‘Lady of the City.’ But before embarking on the sights, Raphael had insisted that he change.

“I wasn’t aware that New Delphi possessed a dress code,” Michael observed. 

“It doesn’t,” Raphael answered. “But someone might recognize you.” 

“From my statue that’s a terrible likeness in Vega?” 

Even with her back turned to him as she looked for suitable clothes in his size, Michael could tell his sister was once again resisting the urge to roll her eyes. 

“Here,” Raphael said, finally handing him a loose pair of pants and a long caftan. “Do you mind wearing the colors of my house?” she asked. “Or would you prefer to wear the colors of the House of Tyrol?” she added, referring to Ithuriel’s guild. 

“The House of Pythia is fine,” Michael replied, accepting the clothes. “My blades?” he requested. 

“They’ll be returned to you when we leave,” Raphael answered. She watched unabashedly as he began to change. “I’m surprised,” she said, continuing their conversation. “That Ithuriel came to New Delphi instead of Vega.” 

When Michael didn’t respond, Raphael nodded. “Of course,” she said with understanding. “He _did_ go to Vega. And you sent him here to keep an eye on me.” 

“Thank you for accepting him into your city,” Michael said, slipping on the caftan. 

“You mean, thank you for accepting him into the city knowing he was your spy,” Raphael corrected. 

“I understand he gave you no cause to doubt his loyalty.” 

“No,” Raphael agreed. “He has served me very well. But we both know where his loyalty truly lies.” She paused, considering something. “You should probably use a different name here as well,” she suggested after a moment. 

Michael didn’t think this was necessary, but he was willing to humor his sister in her domain. 

“How about Tom?”

“Tom?” Raphael repeated, crinkling her nose in distaste. “It’s rather common.” 

“Plain and nondescript,” Michael agreed. “Which I thought was the point. We can’t all be named after Greek oracles.” 

Raphael let out a sparkling laugh. “Michael,” she said. “I have missed you.” She smiled at him affectionately. “Have you looked in the mirror lately? You couldn’t be nondescript if you tried.” 

“I could say the same for you,” Michael answered, tying the drawstring on the pants. 

Raphael shrugged, stepping forward and smoothing down a wrinkle in the flowing caftan. “We are the Firstborn, brother,” she stated. “We are not meant to walk among mortals nor stay hidden among them.” 

“And yet you have been hiding in plain sight.” 

“You have not been hiding at all.” Raphael smiled again. “How did you know I was here?” 

“I received reports of your landing,” Michael explained. “The humans mistook you for a comet or a meteorite, but the descriptions of the flaming gold and red – the colors of your house – and the particular trajectory were too distinctive. After a little investigation, I was certain it was you.” 

“Gabriel must have heard about that same comet,” Raphael mused. 

“You arrived shortly after the end of the Extermination War,” Michael pointed out. “Gabriel was too busy regrouping the forces he had left to look at the skies.” 

“You were always the more observant one. Father liked your attention to detail.”

* * * * *

Now the two Archangels walked the cobbled streets of New Delphi. Michael’s description of Raphael ‘hiding in plain sight’ proved to be very accurate. Pythia was recognized everywhere and everyone they encountered paid their respects, usually through a respectful bow. It was not uncommon for children to run up to her and present her with gifts (a flower, a piece of candy) that she accepted gracefully. She was loved in the city – another version of the benevolent dictator – much like Queen Evelyn of Helena and to a certain extent, the more militaristic rule of General Reisen in Vega.

Michael, too, got many an admiring glance, much to Raphael’s obvious delight. She slipped her arm through his and whispered, “You could have your choice of any woman – or man – in this city. They would come to you willing, as they no doubt did in Vega.” 

“That is not why I am here,” Michael said sternly. 

Raphael merely laughed. “I see no reason why we can’t mix business with pleasure. And I’m not referring to humans only. How long has it been since you were with one of us?” she inquired. “Ithuriel, for instance. Have you renewed _that_ relationship? I understand you both spent the night in one of his guild’s farmhouses, away from the prying eyes of the city.” 

“Your spies don’t stop at the city gates,” Michael answered. “And Ithuriel chose that farmhouse because he is having sexual relations with the woman who owns it.” 

“Ah, Anita,” Raphael said knowingly. “I’d say that he chose that farmhouse to make you jealous except that any kind of competition between you and Anita is absurd. He would have come to your bed if you’d asked.” 

“I didn’t ask.” 

“Well, perhaps you should have.” 

“As fascinating as this conversation is, sister, could we move on to more important matters?” 

Raphael sighed theatrically. “Very well,” she agreed, letting go of his arm. “I suppose you have a plan to infiltrate Gabriel’s eyrie?” 

“One that is already in motion,” Michael confirmed. “What I need from you is to make contact with Alex.” 

“Alex Lannon,” Raphael stated as though she were trying the name on for size. “The Chosen One.” 

Michael inclined his head, waiting for her to continue. 

“Gabriel and I have never been particularly close,” Raphael began. “What makes you think I can just fly to his eyrie and be welcomed with open arms?”

“I never said that,” Michael reminded her. “But Gabriel feels secure in his position, believing he has the upper hand. His guard may be down. You can tell him that you’ve heard the news that the Chosen One has surfaced and that he’s in the eyrie. You’ve come to confirm the news, to see the Chosen One for yourself.” 

“If Gabriel agrees, he’ll try to turn me to his cause.” 

“I’m counting on that.” 

“He’ll want to know where I’ve been, what I’ve been doing.” 

“What you tell him about your affairs – whether you reveal your role in New Delphi’s formation – I leave to your discretion. It would, however, help matters if your brought Gabriel a peace offering of some kind,” Michael added. 

“Do you have something in mind?” 

“Perhaps.”

“I do as well. I was planning to show this to you anyway,” Raphael added. “Come, we are near.” 

It turned out that prisons were the same everywhere, even in the otherwise bucolic New Delphi. Michael recognized the dreary and slab concrete building for what it was before he read the sign ‘New Delphi Detention Center.’ 

“I understood that each quarter was ruled independently,” Michael commented as they entered the building. “Shouldn’t the quarters have individual detention facilities?” 

“They do,” Raphael confirmed. “Assuming criminals aren’t executed outright. This facility is used for cross-district disputes or for cases that are brought before me. It’s also the main facility for my district. This is what I wanted to show you,” she continued, as a guard opened the door to a small observational room. 

Michael walked to the one-way glass, his interest immediately piqued by the occupant inside the room. “Where did you find him?” he asked.

“On the very outskirts of the city. He was in poor shape, malnourished, had no supplies left. Quite frankly, I’m surprised he made it this far. He was praying in a kind of delirious fever-dream when some guards from my district stumbled upon him on their way back to the city.” Raphael paused. “He was praying to Gabriel.” 

“To be expected from a Black Acolyte,” Michael replied. 

“Do you think Gabriel will want him back? He might make a good peace offering.” 

“His value stemmed from his family’s high standing and his own position within Vega,” Michael commented. “But perhaps Gabriel can still find a use for such a devout follower.” He glanced back at his sister. “Does he know who you are?” 

Raphael shook her head, coming to stand beside Michael at the observational window. “He knows me only as Pythia,” she answered. 

“Good,” Michael said, looking back at a scruffy, bearded and handcuffed William Whele. “You should probably clean him up if you wish to present him to Gabriel,” he suggested. 

“Very well.” 

“There’s one more thing,” Michael said slowly, turning to face his sister. “Gabriel is unlikely to be alone.” 

“No,” Raphael agreed, amusement coloring her voice. “I expect him to be surrounded by at least several hundred of his supporters. It isn’t called ‘enemy territory’ for nothing.” 

Michael did not even smile at the joke. “Uriel may be among them,” he said seriously. 

At the mention of her twin’s name, Raphael’s humor fled immediately. “Uriel has aligned herself with Gabriel?” she questioned. 

“It appears so,” Michael answered. “But Uriel has always been . . . unpredictable. I suspect she has another agenda involving Helena where she has been hiding, but I don’t really know.” 

Raphael was silent as she processed the information. When she looked at Michael again, she asked, “Have you seen her?” 

“A few times. She came to me in Vega. She tried to broker a deal between Gabriel and myself on neutral ground in San Francisco. She was staying for a while at the San Francisco Public Library, surrounded by her beloved art and books.” 

Raphael smiled distantly as though she were remembering a distant memory. Michael supposed that she was. 

“I am sorry, Raphael,” Michael said quietly. 

“It is no matter,” Raphael said, but the touch of melancholy in her voice revealed otherwise. “Uriel broke what we shared a long time ago.” 

Michael could feel Raphael’s sadness radiating off her like a wave and he stepped forward, drawing his sister into his arms. He expected her to resist but she melted into his embrace, resting her head against his shoulder. 

“We will get the Chosen One back,” she said softly. “And he will end this war and then we will go home.” 

“Yes,” Michael agreed. “We will.”

* * * * *

Alex shifted, his breathing hitching as the ache in between his legs intensified. He hadn’t been this hard since . . . well, since the last time he’d been with Michael. Jerking off to dirty thoughts of the angel had lost their appeal in the eyrie. But wet dreams? Those were another matter entirely. He was about to take himself in hand when it was swatted away. Alex smiled at the familiar gesture. Oh, it was going to be one of _those_ dreams.

Michael rarely gave head – something about the seeming act of submission was too foreign for the Archangel – but when he did, he was almost worshipful. Alex relished those moments, the feel of Michael between his legs, the back of his knees propped on Michael’s shoulders if they were lying down in bed, the heat of the Archangel’s mouth, the wickedness of his tongue. 

Michael was setting a slow pace, languorous and exploratory. He wasn’t teasing this time. (Michael had turned out to be the biggest cock tease Alex had ever encountered. The Archangel liked to bring him right to the edge and then withhold release. The bastard.) But Alex needed something more than this languid sensuality. He craved Michael’s touch, the certainty of it, the power that emanated from him like a physical force, the safety that he felt when they were together. He reached down, fingers curling into Michael’s hair, gripping him to urge the Archangel on. Michael understood. He felt a hand now working the base of his cock as Michael took more of him inside. He inhaled sharply when he felt the tip of his cock hit the back of Michael’s throat – he hadn’t been expecting that. Michael’s hands were on his hips now, pinning him to the bed, but there was just enough leeway that he could still thrust upwards, shallowly, not enough to gag the Archangel who liked to remain in control.

“Come on,” Alex muttered, hands still fisted in Michael’s hair. 

They were moving in tandem now, bodies falling into a familiar rhythm. Alex could feel his orgasm building in the tightness in his balls and a kind of white heat behind his eyes. He said the Archangel’s name as he came, his body giving out under Michael’s assault and his own need. Michael drank him down, hands still gripping his hips as Alex went limp and boneless. He finally released the Archangel’s hair, urging Michael upwards for a kiss but the Archangel remained firm, patiently licking Alex clean.

Alex basked in the glow of his release, shutting his eyes as he waited for Michael to finish. He could feel the Archangel shifting, moving over him and he reached out for him, only to have his wrist caught and a gentle kiss placed at the base of his hand where his pulse was slowing down. He couldn’t recall Michael kissing him there before, but he paid it no mind. It was nice. 

“What do the tattoos say?” 

It was a strange thing to ask after sex and Alex smiled lazily, his eyes still shut. 

“Alex, what do the tattoos say?” 

Alex could hear the urgency in the question and he opened his eyes. The tattoos were shifting. The heat from their movement brought Alex back to his senses. This wasn’t part of the dream and the tattoos were definitely moving. Alex’s room was lit by several candles that he didn’t remember lighting, certainly not before going to sleep but it was hard to take notice of his surroundings as the burning on his body grew in intensity. He hissed. The tattoos were rarely this intense. They seemed almost . . . angry.

“What do the tattoos say?” 

Alex recognized that voice at the same time he recognized where it came from. His skin was covered in the sheen of sweat (and that didn’t come from the tattoos) and he wasn’t alone in his bed. Fuck. 

“Get out of my bed!” he yelled at the Archangel. 

Gabriel’s eyes flashed with anger and then he was on top of Alex, pinning Alex down with his immense strength as his wings unfurled behind him. 

“What do the tattoos say?” the Archangel asked in a calm and measured voice, a stark contrast to the violence of his actions. 

Alex gritted his teeth. The tattoos were streaks of pain now, but he kept his eyes focused on Gabriel. “Get off of me,” he said as calmly and as forcefully as the Archangel had spoken to him.

Gabriel’s gaze was boring into him. Alex knew that he was in serious trouble. There was no telling what Gabriel would do next. A part of him couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Gabriel had assaulted him in his sleep. The Archangel had said that he wouldn’t force him, and Alex had believed him. Did Gabriel think that masquerading as his brother didn’t count as ‘force’? Alex drove those disturbing thoughts away. He had to focus on the _now_. 

“How do you expect me to read the tattoos like this?” he spat back at the Archangel, referring to the way Gabriel had him pinned on the bed.

The fire in Gabriel’s eyes seemed to dim a fraction as he realized that Alex was right. He released Alex’s right arm and moved back a little, but most of his weight still pinned the human. Alex lifted his freed arm and watched the underside of his forearm where the tattoos were swirling in a dizzying pattern. To his surprise they were coalescing, forming words in the fire script Alex had not seen for weeks. He temporarily forgot about Gabriel as he focused on his arm. He could read the words. 

“What do they say?” Gabriel asked again.

Alex fought to keep his expression neutral, to maintain the defiance in his eyes before he looked at the Archangel again. He could give nothing away to Gabriel. 

“They say,” he began. “Beware of those closest to you.” 

Gabriel was still looking at him intently, as though he could see straight into Alex’s heart and mind. Did the Archangel know it was a lie? 

“They’ve said that before,” Alex added. It was the right thing to say because it had the ring of truth. Alex knew the moment Gabriel believed him. “Now get out of my bed,” he snarled at the Archangel.

Gabriel merely smiled at him as though Alex were a pet that he was indulging, but he did as Alex said, finally releasing him completely as he moved off the bed. Alex instinctively drew his knees up, wrapping his arms around his legs as leaned against the headboard. He felt raw and so very exposed, in more ways than one. 

“You said you would never force me,” he told the Archangel accusingly. 

“I don’t recall you putting up much resistance,” Gabriel replied, glancing behind him as he headed towards the door. 

Alex could feel himself flushing with shame. 

“Think of this as an experiment,” Gabriel said, his hand now on the doorknob of Alex’s room. “One that was a resounding success.”

With these words, Gabriel left. Alex knew that there was a guard on duty and he dimly wondered who else knew about his encounter with Gabriel. Alone in his room, he ran his left hand over his right forearm where the tattoos had broken their silence. He’d told Gabriel the first thing that had popped into his mind, but that’s not what the tattoos had actually said. Alex could still feel the imprint of the script on his skin, but it was fading. The words had given him solace, something he desperately needed in his situation. The message had read: 

_He is coming_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that bridges the mythology between _Dominion_ and _Legion_ (with some of my own embellishments thrown in). If you haven't seen _Legion_ , then this is a full-spoiler warning.

The next day the look on Noma’s face told Alex that she had a pretty good idea of what had happened to him the night before. 

“Are you okay?” she asked him immediately. 

“I’m fine, Nomes.” Alex’s reply was automatic, but even he could hear the exhaustion in his own voice. It smacked of . . . resignation. 

“You’re not ‘fine,’ Alex,” Noma rebuked him sternly, grabbing his hand and pulling him to sit beside her on the sofa in Alex’s room. 

“Maybe not,” Alex conceded. “But it could’ve been a lot worse.” 

“That bastard,” Noma muttered. 

“’Sides, it’s not like I didn’t get anything out of it,” Alex said, attempting a feeble joke. The expression on his friend’s face told him that it was a joke made in very, very bad taste. 

“He _assaulted_ you, Alex,” Noma stated flatly. 

“Yeah, let’s not say that so loudly,” Alex replied, his gaze drifting to where Furiad was standing by the door. When Alex was alone, his guards stayed outside his room but since Noma had begun visiting him (this was the third day), they took up their position inside his room to keep an eye on the two of them when they were together. It was Furiad’s detail once again. 

Noma glanced behind her to look at Furiad before turning back to Alex again, dropping her voice so that Furiad’s sensitive hearing wouldn’t be able to pick up her words. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about him,” she said. 

“Who?” 

“Furiad.” 

“What about him?”

“How long has he been your guard?” 

“Pretty much since I got here.” 

Noma paused, brow furrowed as she considered something. “This is gonna sound crazy,” she said at last. “But hear me out before you object.” 

Alex gestured that she should continue. 

“I don’t think Furiad is happy here.”

Alex almost laughed outright but the gravity of Noma’s expression stopped him. She wasn’t joking. At all. Although he didn’t understand why Noma would notice or even care about Furiad’s ‘happiness,’ he managed to keep a straight face as he asked, “How can you tell?” 

“You don’t know Furiad the way I do.” 

“Thank _god_.” 

“Alex!” 

“Sorry,” Alex said, only vaguely remorseful. “But I don’t know where you’re going with this.”

“Furiad and I are soldiers,” Noma explained. “You humans call us ‘Higher Angels’ and while it’s true that we’re further up the food chain than the eight-balls, the reality is we’re still soldiers. We follow orders.” 

“O-kay,” Alex said, still uncertain of where Noma was headed with her explanation.

“Furiad has principles. He needs order, a regimented life, to be told what to do. When Father closed the gates of Heaven, the traditional structures that we’ve lived by for millennia collapsed. Whole armies fell into disarray. That’s why it was so easy for Gabriel to persuade the lower angels to follow him. The dogs of Heaven had nothing else to do. Gabriel gave them purpose and he is a very charismatic and persuasive General.” 

“A General?” Alex repeated. 

“Of course, Alex,” Noma said. “That’s what the Archangels are. They are our generals and Michael is the greatest one of them all.” 

“You’re telling me that Michael is your General,” Alex said, starting to put things together. 

“I have served Michael my whole life,” Noma confirmed. “I serve him still.” 

Alex nodded. That actually made sense. “What does this have to do with Furiad?” he asked.

“I think Furiad joined Gabriel’s side ‘cause he needed that purpose, that order in his life that was taken away from him when Heaven collapsed. We don’t belong here, Alex,” Noma said. “This is not our world and all we really want to do is go home. Gabriel has probably convinced Furiad that the only way to do that is to win this war against humanity.” 

“Wait a minute,” Alex said, understanding dawning on him. “You think you can turn Furiad to our side.” 

“Rebellion doesn’t come naturally to us.” 

“You remember the part where Furiad almost killed Michael in the desert?”

“So much has happened since then,” Noma countered. “Furiad must know about what Gabriel did to the neutral angels in Vega. That kind of slaughter would be reprehensible to him, but he wouldn’t dare speak out against it. And last night, what Gabriel did to you . . .” Noma trailed off. “He wouldn’t approve of that either.” She sighed. “What I’m trying to say is, Furiad has honor.” 

“And Gabriel doesn’t?” 

Noma’s expression was grim. “Whatever honor Gabriel had, he’s lost.” She paused and squeezed Alex’s hand once more. “But our best chance of convincing Furiad is you.” 

“Me?” 

“Your presence here changes everything.”

At this, Alex really did laugh. His laughter was loud in the hushed silence of the room and Furiad looked at him sharply. He managed to stifle the rest of his laughter before he lowered his voice again. 

“He doesn’t speak to me, Nomes,” Alex told her gently. “He barely acknowledges my presence at all. Sometimes I think Gabriel is punishing him by giving him this guard duty.” 

“Maybe Gabriel is, maybe he isn’t,” Noma said. “But Furiad isn’t blind. He’s observant.” 

“Like a hawk,” Alex agreed.

“Then he knows what’s going on,” Noma continued. “You coming to Gabriel should’ve been Gabriel’s crowning moment, his victory over Michael. But it’s all gone pear-shaped since then. The tattoos are quiet and any idiot can see that Michael is your rightful guide. Gabriel doesn’t know what to do with you. He’s getting desperate.” 

Alex remained silent. He had firsthand experience of how ‘desperate’ Gabriel was becoming. 

“You have to convince Furiad to help us.” 

“How am I supposed to do that?” 

“I don’t know, Alex. You’re the Chosen One.” 

Alex sighed. He was becoming more and more convinced that prophecies should come with instruction manuals. It would just be so much easier for everyone involved.

* * * * *

While Alex thought of a way to approach Furiad, Noma went on the offensive using her previous history with the higher angel to gain more of his trust. It began simply. Noma would speak to Furiad while he was on duty. Apparently, Gabriel didn’t have any rules against fraternizing with the ‘prisoners’ since it didn’t take long for Furiad to engage Noma in conversation. They’d have a short talk, each one ending with an invitation for Furiad to join Alex and herself in the main room for a bite to eat or a drink during Noma’s visits. Furiad turned Noma down each time and maintained his position by the door, but even Alex could tell that the other angel was tempted. Maybe Noma was on to something. Or maybe this was just a ploy and Furiad was acting as Gabriel’s spy. When Alex mentioned this to Noma, she agreed that it was a possibility but she also thought it was a risk worth taking.

“It doesn’t hurt to try,” she told Alex.

Privately, Alex disagreed. But he also remembered the tone of Furiad’s voice in the dungeons when he’d said that Noma was unharmed. The concern for Noma’s well-being had been genuine. It was obvious, now more than ever, that he cared for her. Noma was right. She knew Furiad from a different time. Maybe Furiad had changed, but Alex also liked to think that Noma had good taste in her romantic partners (otherwise that didn’t say much for _him_ either). Whatever Alex thought, Noma was determined and she patiently chipped away at Furiad’s façade until one day, almost a week after Gabriel had come to Alex’s bed, Furiad sat down and joined them for a snack. 

Furiad still wouldn’t acknowledge Alex’s presence, a remarkable feat given that he’d become Alex’s primary guard. He and Noma might as well have been alone in Alex’s room, on a date for crying out loud. The two angels had tuned Alex out to the point that Alex felt like their silent chaperone. But like Furiad, Alex was observant. He paid attention to their conversation and was thankful that it remained in English and not the language of the angels that he’d heard them sometimes lapse into. 

Furiad was talking about the new angels that had flocked to Gabriel’s cause. As the news of the Chosen One spread among the celestial host, more and more angels were arriving each day, not just the eight-balls, but the higher angels who had come out of hiding. Furiad delivered this news in his usual impassive manner, but Alex thought he detected concern in the angel’s red eyes. This news should have pleased Furiad, but he seemed ambivalent about it. 

“Sammael arrived today,” Furiad stated. 

“Sammael?” Noma repeated and there was no mistaking the dismay in her voice. 

“I watched him pay his respects to Gabriel in the throne room.” 

“Who is Sammael?” Alex asked.

For the first time all afternoon, the two angels looked at him. Noma exchanged a glance with Furiad before she cleared her throat. 

“Sammael is the Angel of Death,” she explained. 

“The actual Angel of Death?” Alex repeated a little incredulously. 

“Yes,” Furiad said, his tone indicating that Alex should show some respect. Alex felt suitably chastised.

“Sammael is very powerful,” Noma continued. “Not quite the rank of an Archangel,” she conceded. “But he holds a great deal of influence among our people.” 

“It is a boon that he has joined Gabriel’s cause,” Furiad added. 

“What does the Angel of Death do?” Alex asked, his interest genuinely piqued. 

“I’m not sure what he’s been doing lately,” Noma admitted. “But before the Extermination War, Sammael was responsible for ferrying souls to Heaven.”

Alex’s jaw dropped open in shock. “Wow,” he said. “That’s . . . impressive.” He paused. He’d never really considered the logistics of Heaven before, how the celestial world actually worked. Why should he when all he had known was his own earthly existence? “But if Heaven’s gates are closed,” he began. “Where do souls go?” 

“To Purgatory,” Furiad answered. “Where they wait, as we do, for the gates to open again.” 

“You mean every single person that’s died since the start of the Extermination War has gone to Purgatory?” Alex asked. The thought was mind-boggling. Billions of people had died because of that war. The human race had almost been wiped out. 

“The number of souls in Purgatory so far outweigh those in Heaven and Hell as to be laughable,” Furiad replied. 

“The gatekeepers of Purgatory are pissed,” Noma added. “Who can blame them? They’re extended well beyond capacity. Basically, Sammael has been out of a job. Like the rest of us. I’m still surprised though, that he would side with Gabriel. I thought . . .” she trailed off.

Alex was about to ask her to continue, but Furiad spoke before he could. 

“It is because the Chosen One is here,” Furiad said. “If he were still with Michael, perhaps things would be different.” 

Noma looked at Alex. _This might be it_ , her look said. _This might be the moment where you can sway him_.

Alex still wasn’t one hundred percent convinced of Noma’s plan, but he thought he might be able to plant the seeds of doubt in Furiad. He just needed the right opening. If only Furiad would provide him with one. 

“When the tattoos are deciphered, Gabriel will lead us to victory,” Furiad was saying. “Then Father’s will shall be done and the gates of Heaven will open once more.” 

“Your Father’s will?” Alex repeated. “What do you mean?” 

Furiad’s gaze was piercing. “The extermination of your race,” he stated. 

“But that’s not . . .” Alex hesitated, briefly glancing at Noma. “That’s not what God wanted. He gave us a second chance.”

Furiad’s expression had turned to stone. “You presume to know our Father’s will?” he asked haughtily. 

“No,” Alex quickly answered, biting back a retort about being the Chosen One. “I just know what my father told me and what Michael told him, about how the War started and why it was fought.” 

Furiad said nothing and Alex took his silence as permission to continue.

“It’s true,” Alex began, “that God wanted to wipe out the human race. I don’t know why. I guess he’d just . . . given up on us. He sent Michael to kill my mother while I was still in her womb. By killing her before I was born, the prophecy could never be fulfilled. But Michael disobeyed God and instead of killing my mother, he protected her. For two days and two nights until I was born, my mother and a small group of people were holed up in some out of the way diner, fighting off the eight-balls that surrounded them. Once I was born, the eight-balls couldn’t touch me.” Alex shrugged. “That changed when I grew older. But back then, they couldn’t do anything. So God sent another assassin to kill me, another Archangel. Gabriel. He and Michael fought. But by disobeying God, Michael had fallen from grace and he fought Gabriel as a mortal. Gabriel killed him.” 

“Impossible,” Furiad said, eyes blazing. He looked like he was about to stand up. 

“Let him finish,” Noma said. “Please.” 

Furiad gave her a long look before finally returning his attention to Alex. His nod for Alex to continue was barely perceptible.

“Gabriel tracked my mother and father down. He had them trapped on a cliff face. He was about to kill Jeep – my dad – when Michael stopped him.” Alex paused and took a deep breath. Furiad was riveted by his story now. “Y’see, God brought Michael back to life. He rewarded Michael for Michael’s faith in humanity and that’s why He gave us a second chance. He gave us Michael to be our guide, to be _my_ guide. Michael is not the reason the Extermination War continued. Your Father showed us mercy.” 

“If this is so,” Furiad said, his voice sharp with anger. “If Father gave humanity a second chance, why did He leave?” 

“I don’t know,” Alex quickly replied. 

Furiad looked so mad Alex was worried he might stab something . . . or someone. Even Noma had moved closer to him as though she meant to protect him. 

“I don’t know,” Alex said again as Furiad stood up. 

“What does Michael say?” 

“He doesn’t know either.” 

It was the wrong answer. Furiad exploded. Alex assumed the angel was cursing, but he had no idea since Furiad was no longer speaking a language he could understand. The look of concern on Noma’s face only increased Alex’s own anxiety. This was a terrible plan.

When Furiad’s anger abated somewhat, he turned on Alex again. “You lie!” he said. 

“Why would I lie?” Alex asked incredulously. 

“Because you are in love with Michael,” Furiad said. “You would do anything to return to him.” 

“I _do_ love Michael,” Alex said, privately wondering how those words could come so easily to him surrounded by his enemies when he’d never even spoken them to the Archangel. “But that doesn’t mean I would lie. I’m telling you what my father and Michael told me. And they wouldn’t lie about this. They have . . .” Alex searched for the right word. “They have honor,” he said at last. 

Furiad didn’t look the least bit placated and Alex couldn’t tell whether or not the angel believed him. All he knew was that Furiad was pissed. Alex had basically shattered whatever illusions Gabriel’s lieutenant had been harboring about why he was fighting this war. 

“Noma,” Furiad said sharply, his gaze never leaving Alex’s face. “Your time’s up.” 

Both Alex and Noma knew this was false, but neither questioned it. Noma merely stood up and gave Alex a hug. 

“You did the right thing,” she whispered as she embraced him. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said in her normal voice when they broke apart. 

“Sure thing, Nomes,” Alex said. 

Furiad was already at the door, ready to escort Noma back to her own room. There was a second guard on sentinel duty outside Alex’s room until Furiad returned. Alex watched the two angels leave, breathing a sigh – whether of relief or resignation, he couldn’t tell anymore – when he was alone again.

* * * * *

Alex didn’t see Noma the next day or the day after or the day after that. He didn’t see Furiad either. Another angel had replaced Furiad on guard duty. Alex couldn’t remember this one’s name, but he also gave Alex the silent treatment. Alex didn’t know whether Gabriel had sent Furiad on an assignment or whether the angel had requested a transfer. (Could guards in Gabriel’s army request a transfer?) He felt more alone now than ever. He couldn’t even leave his room.

On the upside, Gabriel hadn’t requested to see him (nor paid him a visit) since _that_ night, but Alex knew it was only a matter of time. The Archangel was plotting his next move and Alex dreaded to find out what it would be. Gabriel was right. The Archangel’s ‘experiment’ had been a ‘resounding success.’ It seemed a cruel irony to Alex that his feelings for Michael might be used against him.

Ten days after Gabriel had paid him an unwanted visit, Alex was summoned by the Archangel and his new guard (Amitiel? Azazel?) brought him to Gabriel’s study. The study was a mess, books strewn about, and scrolls of parchment paper littered over Gabriel’s normally immaculate desk. The Archangel himself wasn’t around but it was obvious that he was searching for something in these ancient texts. Alex hazarded a look at one of the opened scrolls that was facing him. He could almost make out the writing. He concentrated on the text, waiting for the moment when the scrawl would change, move and become decipherable to him like the tattoos. 

“Can you read it?” 

Alex almost jumped at the sound of Gabriel’s voice – angels were so stealthy – but he merely straightened his back and stood at attention liked he used to in the Archangel Corps.

“Michael taught you how to perform evictions,” Gabriel said conversationally, walking around Alex before going to his desk. “You would have needed the Apocrypha for that and Michael isn’t the type to do translation duty.” He paused, flashing Alex a lascivious grin. “Although I suppose he could make an exception for you,” he added, giving Alex a once-over that made Alex’s flesh crawl. 

“I read the Apocrypha myself,” Alex said, keeping his gaze forward and trying to direct Gabriel’s thoughts away from . . . well, anything that had to do with sex. 

Gabriel’s smile grew. “Good,” he said. “Another perk of being the Chosen One. Have you tried reading other ancient texts?” 

“No.” 

Gabriel picked up the scroll that Alex had been examining when he entered. He handed it to the human. “Try this.” 

“Do you need me to do translation duty for you?” 

Gabriel laughed. “Oh, that sass,” he remarked. “I bet training with Michael was a ball.”

Alex chose to ignore the comment and focused once more on the scroll in front of him. “It’s from Revelations,” he said after a moment.

“Yes,” Gabriel confirmed. “But not from any version of Revelations that appear in your bibles.” 

Alex’s brow furrowed. “Is this?” he began uncertainly. “Is this a spell?” 

“Don’t believe in magic?” the Archangel asked. 

“Only the kind that involves rabbits being pulled from top hats and beautiful women being sawed in half,” Alex said, reluctantly releasing the scroll as Gabriel took it back.

“And yet here you stand before a supernatural being; yourself a new Messiah for your people, your body adorned by celestial tattoos and you claim _not_ to believe in magic?” 

Alex shifted. Gabriel was uncomfortably near. 

“Or do you put your faith in science?” the Archangel continued, a finger now tracing the side of Alex’s face until it rested under Alex’s chin, forcing Alex to look into his eyes. “Do you subscribe to Becca Thorn’s method of dissection and extrapolation, to learn what you can from our biology and our weapons like guinea pigs in a lab?” 

“What Senator Thorn did to Louis was inhuman,” Alex replied evenly. 

“Oh no,” Gabriel corrected, his voice gently mocking. “It was _very_ human. Just like what I will do to you Chosen One, is very . . . _angelic_.”

Gabriel’s gaze had zeroed in on Alex’s mouth and Alex felt a brief moment of panic that the Archangel was going to kiss him. His mind was whirling, thinking of how to prevent that from happening when there was a knock on the door. 

Alex saw the annoyance mar Gabriel’s features as his gaze flicked to the door. “Enter,” the Archangel commanded, his hand still gripping Alex’s chin. 

Alex couldn’t see who came in the room, but he recognized the voice. To his own surprise, he was relieved to hear it. 

“Sammael’s delegation has arrived,” Furiad said in his familiar even tones. “They are waiting for you in the throne room.”

Gabriel nodded in acknowledgement, his attention returning to Alex once more. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over Alex’s face. “We will finish this later, Chosen One,” he whispered, brushing his lips against Alex’s in the most chaste of kisses. Alex couldn’t prevent himself from flinching and if Gabriel hadn’t been holding him still, he would’ve jerked away. 

Gabriel took a step backwards, opening a little space between them. He was still too close for Alex’s comfort, but Alex held his ground. He could feel Gabriel’s power emanating from him, much like it did with Michael. It was a physical presence, enveloping him, seducing him, willing him to submit. He wondered if all Archangels could bend humans to their will like this, if that was what Michael had done to him. 

“Furiad, escort the Chosen One back to his room,” Gabriel ordered, giving Alex one last smile. That smile smacked too much of triumph. Alex would’ve wiped it away if he could.

Out in the hallway, Furiad and Alex walked side-by-side in silence. It was the norm for them. As they walked, Alex hazarded a look to his left. The angel was as unperturbed as always. He knew what Furiad had done for him, even though it had probably been unintentional. 

“Thank you,” he said very quietly when they reached his door. 

Furiad met his gaze before he nodded in acknowledgement.


	6. Chapter 6

_We are comforted by the words of our Father:_  
_The Chosen One is near._  
_His hope will unite us,_  
_His faith will bolster us,_  
_His strength will bring us our time of peace._

\-- The Savior's Prayer 

 

William Whele was a man of faith. Religion ran in his blood. His father was known in Vega as a business tycoon, a ruthless and pragmatic dealer of economic policy, but before the Extermination War, David Whele had been a televangelist. William understood that in those days televangelism had had a bad rep. Religious exploitation some had called it. Religious theater, others had said. Despite all that, David Whele had been a True Believer, right up until the moment that angels had revealed themselves and tried to exterminate the human race. Now David Whele’s faith lay solely in humanity, more specifically, in himself. 

This was not so with William. William had taken up his father’s mantle as the True Believer. But unlike his father, he did not put his faith in God, whom he knew had abandoned them. Nor did he place his faith in Michael (St. Michael, the Archangel had been called in another time, when he had been the patron saint of police officers), although he was grateful for all that Michael had done. No, William Whele put his faith in the Savior who would one day unite mankind, and he put his faith in Gabriel, who was God’s messenger. 

It was this faith that sustained him (the knowledge that the Savior existed, his belief that Gabriel had work for him to do) when his father had left him with precious few supplies outside the city gates of Vega. He had been spared, not only by his father’s mercy but also because there was more work to be done, because Gabriel would still need him. In many respects, _he_ was Gabriel’s Chosen One. 

The problem was that Gabriel’s stronghold was located on the edge of the Western plains and William knew his survival skills (or lack thereof) well enough to realize that attempting that trip would be foolhardy. New Delphi, on the other hand, while still on the northernmost tip of the cradle, was the next logical choice. He would find no sanctuary in Helena, and given New Delphi’s reputation, entering the city would not be a problem. 

It was dangerous to stay on the road, but leaving the road also posed its own threats. So William had walked on the side, hoping to run into some good people that he could hitch a ride with, as opposed to criminals or eight-balls, who would most likely kill him. Perhaps Gabriel was watching over him after all because three hours into his long walk to New Delphi, a family in an old beat-up station wagon pulled up beside him. William had a moment of panic that they would recognize him as the Principe but then he realized that the chances of this family coming out of Vega were next to none. The walls of Vega were inviolable. Everyone knew that. 

The family eventually welcomed him, although they were understandably distrustful at first. William squeezed into the backseat, in between the boy and girl whom he estimated were around five and seven, respectively. The mother’s name was Laura, the father Bill. They too were on their way to New Delphi, the small town they had been living in for the past five years recently overrun and destroyed by eight-balls. 

Bill was shaking his head as he drove. “They’re gettin’ more aggressive those sons of bitches,” he snarled, eyeing William through the rearview mirror. “We been left alone goin’ on five years in that dustbin of a town and then them eight-balls pick _now_ to attack? Something’s brewin’, I tell ya.”

William didn’t know how to respond. Of course, Bill was right but he didn’t think he could confirm Bill’s suspicions without sounding suspicious himself. He doubted he’d have been let in the family car at all if it hadn’t been for Laura. 

“Where you from, William?” Laura intervened, giving her husband a sideways glance. William suspected that she’d heard Bill give this spiel one too many times. 

“Vega,” William answered. There was no point in lying. Beside him, the kids started murmuring excitedly. 

“Vega!” the little girl exclaimed. “The city of lights.” 

William smiled at her in spite of himself. Vega was indeed the ‘City of Lights.’ It was the only bright light in the cradle. 

“Figures,” Bill muttered from the driver’s seat. “Where else would ya come from with a fancy, black suit like that?” 

“Why did you leave?” Laura asked him, ignoring her husband. “Vega is safe.” 

William shook his head. “Not anymore,” he replied, and it was true. “No place is safe now.” 

In the rearview mirror, Bill caught his eye once more. This time the man didn’t say anything. William’s statement was the one thing they probably agreed on.

* * * * *

William rode with the Martin family about half of the way to New Delphi. He couldn’t believe his luck. On foot, it would’ve taken him at least a month to cross the cradle, and that would’ve been in the best of conditions. But his luck eventually ran out. They came across a three-car wreck on the highway, the bodies of the passengers strewn about the road. Bill surmised that a trap had been laid out by two of the cars for the third vehicle, but everything had gone to hell when the whole group had been attacked by eight-balls. There were three eight-balls lying dead in the highway too.

Laura grabbed her husband’s arm. “Drive around them,” she urged him. William could hear the fear in her voice. His own fear was threatening to choke him.

Bill shook his head. “There’s gas in them cars,” he told her. “We need that gas.” 

“You don’t know that,” Laura argued. “Other people have probably come here before us. Whatever gas there was would’a been taken by now.” 

“It don’t hurt to look,” Bill said. 

Laura was about to vehemently disagree, but Bill addressed William, jolting him out of his fear-induced stupor. 

“Hey, kid,” Bill said, opening the driver’s side door. “Get out and help me. It’ll be faster if there’s two of us.” 

William could only nod dumbly. “Excuse me,” he said to Melinda, the little girl, politely, his manners not failing him even though his heart was hammering in his chest.

Once William was out of the car, everything happened very quickly. He approached the vehicle on the right, while Bill went towards the vehicle on the left. Before he’d even reached the car, the sound of gunfire had him diving for the ground. Hands covering his head, he saw a winged shadow on the concrete pass overhead, saw Bill firing a handgun on his left. There were louder shots coming from behind (Laura must’ve had a shotgun in the front seat) and the children were screaming. William shut his eyes and waited, body curled into a tight ball, paralyzed by fear. 

Eventually the gunfire stopped and the crying along with it. The road became eerily quiet once more, the wind the only sound William could hear through his whispered prayers. There was motion ahead. Footsteps. The rustling of feathers. Both stopped in front of him. William was practically prostrate on the road, his body language one of complete submission. 

“Look at me child,” said a voice that William did not recognize. 

William took a deep breath and looked up. He couldn’t see the face of the angel before him thanks to the sun that was at the angel’s back. The angel’s wings were spread out, casting William in shadow. Then the creature bent down and cupped William under his chin. It was a female that William did not recognize. 

“My child,” she said, tilting William’s head. 

At that moment, William simply knew. Maybe it had been the inflection of the voice, the way his chin was being held or the knowing glint in the angel’s eye. 

“Gabriel,” he breathed, resisting the urge to lie prostrate once more.

“Did you think I had abandoned you?” 

“Never.” 

“Continue on your journey to New Delphi, William. Be my eyes and ears. That city has been closed to me for too long. I want to know where my enemies are hiding.” 

“I live to serve.” 

“And you have served me well.”

* * * * *

When Alex returned to his room after another frustrating session with Gabriel (thankfully, one that was only laced with sexual innuendo and far too much reading of ancient texts – Alex still wasn’t sure what Gabriel was looking for in those documents), dinner was already waiting for him. There was a plate with a silver cover on the dining table where he took his meals and a carafe of wine.

“Do you –” Alex began, but stopped abruptly when Furiad turned to look at him. The angel had already been on his way to the door. Alex quelled his hesitation and tried again. “Do you want to join me?” he asked, gesturing towards the table. 

It had been two days since Furiad had inadvertently intervened with Gabriel, five days since he’d sat down with Noma and Alex and heard the true origin of the Extermination War. 

“Maybe for a drink?” Alex added, knowing that he couldn’t offer Furiad a proper meal.

Furiad’s red eyes studied him intently. The following nod was barely perceptible. _So much like Michael_ , Alex thought. He was shocked that Furiad had agreed, and he did an admirable job of not showing it as they both sat down with Alex at the head of the table and Furiad on his right. The angel made himself right at home, pouring some wine into one of the goblets and taking a drink. If there was one thing Alex could say about Gabriel’s eyrie, it would be that wine ran like water. Literally. And that angels could hold their liquor.

Alex removed the cover of the plate in front of him. If there was another thing he could say about Gabriel’s eyrie, it would be that everyone ate well. He certainly couldn’t complain. They were feeding him better in the eyrie than he’d ever been fed in Vega. Tonight’s meal was roast beef and mashed potatoes. (Roast beef? Where the hell did angels get _roast beef_? And who the hell cooked this stuff?) 

“You mind?” he asked Furiad out of politeness as he picked up his silver (real silver!) utensils. If he’d expected the angel to nod or acquiesce in some way, he was sorely mistaken as Furiad’s red eyes simply continued to study him. 

“Okay,” Alex said to himself, digging into his dinner. He was thankful for the distraction. Although he’d invited the angel to join him, he hadn’t thought far enough ahead in terms of conversation and Furiad didn’t seem the type to help him out one bit.

But the angel was sitting down with him and Alex considered that to be real progress. 

Alex chewed (the beef was tender and the gravy delicious) and when he swallowed, he finally said, “So, who did you serve? Before the Extermination War?” 

Furiad was visibly startled by the question, but he didn’t reply. 

Alex remained undeterred. “Noma told me that you all served Generals,” he went on. “Archangels,” he clarified after a moment. “I’m guessing that you didn’t always serve Gabriel.” 

There was a long silence before Furiad spoke. “You are correct,” he said evenly. 

Alex waited for him to say who his former General was, but when Furiad didn’t continue, he asked again. “So . . . who did you serve?” 

Furiad sighed heavily as though displeased, but a name escaped his lips. 

“Jophiel.” 

“Jophiel,” Alex repeated, testing the name. “He? She?” 

“He.” 

Alex grinned as he took another bite. Furiad wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but one-word answers were better than no answers at all. 

“So . . . where is he now?” 

Another long silence. 

“I do not know,” Furiad answered after taking another drink of his wine. Just when Alex thought that was all Furiad would say, the angel continued. “Arcs are not bound to this realm as we are.”

“Arcs?” 

“Amongst ourselves that is what we call them – the Archangels. They left once the gates of Heaven closed. They abandoned us.” Alex could hear the bitterness in the angel’s voice. Furiad made no attempt to hide it. “Just like our Father.” 

Now it was Alex’s turn to remain silent. He had no idea how to respond to that, but he also knew that his response would be crucial. 

“They didn’t all leave,” he said eventually. “Maybe others will return,” he added, thinking of how Uriel had suddenly resurfaced. 

Furiad had another drink but did not comment.

“Do you get to choose?” Alex said after another silence had passed. “Whom you serve?” He was thinking of Noma’s remark, of how she had served Michael her whole life and continued to serve him. 

“No,” Furiad answered. “We are assigned to our General.” 

“Who decides something like that?” 

Furiad was looking at him blankly and Alex realized that the angel probably didn’t even know. 

“It is the will of God,” Furiad said simply.

“I guess what I’m saying is, if you could’ve chosen whom to serve back then,” Alex began. “The way you chose Gabriel now, who would you’ve picked?” 

The longest silence of all stretched between the two of them. Alex couldn’t tell if Furiad was seriously considering the question or whether he’d simply chosen to ignore it. 

“I would have chosen Michael,” Furiad said at last. “He is the greatest of all our Generals.”

Alex felt an inexpressible pride at Furiad’s proclamation. Noma had echoed similar sentiments. Alex noted as well how Furiad had spoken in the present tense. _He_ is _the greatest of all our Generals_. There was respect there, in spite of – or maybe because of – the two fights he had had with Michael in recent months. 

“You could serve him still,” Alex said quietly. He met Furiad’s gaze and the angel didn’t look away. It was the most brazen Alex had ever been with his guard, laying out his cards on the table for the angel to see. He thought Noma would’ve been proud of him.

Furiad, however, wasn’t the first to break eye contact. It was Alex, who suddenly gripped his right arm as he felt the tattoos move, the burning sensation causing him to wince. He pulled up the sleeve of his henley, watching in fascination as the tattoos swirled over his skin. He knew that Furiad was watching as well. The script was forming. The message was different. 

When Alex looked up again, it was to see Furiad’s eyes burning even more brightly. The angel did not ask what the tattoos had said, but surely he must have known that the tattoos had revealed something to Alex. It was a gamble, an enormous risk, but one that Alex found he was willing to take. 

“Michael is here.”

* * * * *

The black hooded cloth covering his face was lightweight and breathable. Unlike the hoods that the Black Acolytes had worn in Vega, no light penetrated through the weaving. William was blind, but he strained to hear all that was around him.

Armed with his new mission, William had barely made it to New Delphi. He’d driven the Martin car until the gas had run out. He met other cars on the road, but no one stopped, no one offered him a ride. It had taken him a month to walk the rest of the way, scrounging for supplies and taking shelter where he could. But William persevered despite the adversity. He understood now that this hardship was a test and that he would emerge victorious. 

He’d eventually collapsed from exhaustion and malnutrition on the farmlands at the outskirts of the city, whispered prayers falling from his lips. A patrol had found him by the side of the road. 

“Water,” he’d begged them once he’d been rolled over and was laying on his back. 

“Why should we waste our water on you?” one of the men had laughed. 

William had been too parched to reply. His voice had died in his throat. Another soldier was rummaging through his pockets, patting him down for valuables. Belatedly, he remembered the pendant that he was wearing when he felt the gold chain snap around his neck. It bore the seal of the Principe. _Would these men recognize it_? he wondered. He was so far from Vega. The answer, however, appeared to be ‘yes.’ 

“Pythia will want to see this one,” a voice said and then William blacked out.

* * * * *

William remembered the flight. He also remembered being injected with a drug back at the New Delphi Detention facility, one that had obviously knocked him out. But when he came to, he knew that he was in midair, strong arms carrying him as the wind buffeted them. _Fuck_ , his mind panicked and he reached forward blindly, gripping whatever he could.

“Stay calm,” a commanding voice told him, one that William didn’t recognize. “I will not drop you and we are almost there.” 

William wanted to ask where ‘there’ was but the black hood prevented him from speaking. He tried to control his breathing since he’d been in danger of hyperventilating when he’d first woken up. Then he wrapped his arms around the unknown angel’s neck (the angel didn’t object), settling his head in the crook of the angel’s neck. It was oddly comfortable, but the wind was cold and he shivered. 

“Sleep, William,” the voice said and William found himself obeying.

* * * * *

The room was warm. It smelled of incense and burning candles. William could feel rather than see the presence that surrounded him. His skin prickled under the warmth of his clothes as though he were the center of attention. He was most aware of the being on his left, the angel that had brought him here whose hand he could feel at the small of his back. The touch was comforting, almost protective even though William knew he had no reason to think that. He could hear voices speaking, a male and a female voice. Then the hand at his back pushed him forward and William was so surprised that he almost tripped, just managing to catch himself at the last moment. The hood was pulled over his head and the smell of incense hit him strongly, almost making him cough. As his blurry vision cleared, he made out a familiar figure dressed in black that was walking towards him. Instantly, William was on his knees, head bowed in supplication.

There was a tinkling laugh. “I see you have trained him well, brother,” the female voice said. 

It came from William’s right. With his head still bowed he saw a golden sandal beside him, the owner of that foot belonging to the sparkling voice. 

“It is what they are for,” Gabriel answered, standing before William. 

“I thought you might want him back,” the female angel said. “He was praying to you when my guards found him.” 

“He is my most faithful acolyte,” Gabriel agreed, his praise causing William’s chest to bloom with pride. 

“Then this gift pleases you?” 

“It does.” 

Gabriel moved. William watched from the floor as the Archangel walked behind him. 

“What doesn’t please me,” Gabriel continued, his voice growing hard. “Is _his_ presence.”

William didn’t have to turn around to know that Gabriel was referring to the angel that had been his guard. 

“What is he doing here?” Gabriel demanded. 

The female angel answered him and her voice had also grown cold. “Ithuriel serves me now and has done so faithfully since the start of your petty War.” 

“Is that so?” Gabriel’s voice was challenging, disbelieving. 

“Yes,” the female answered with authority. “If you do not accept him, then our business here is concluded.” 

William could tell that she was about to walk away. 

“Raphael,” Gabriel said, the name startling William. 

Raphael? The _Archangel_ Raphael? 

“Come sister,” Gabriel was saying, his voice now cajoling, warm and friendly. “You had a long flight. It would be a shame to come all this way and not see what you came for.” 

“I agree,” Raphael said, her voice still somewhat cool. “Then where is he?”

“In his room,” Gabriel answered. “Probably having dinner as we speak.” 

“I want to see him,” Raphael said. “Alone.” 

There was a pause. 

“As you wish, sister.”

* * * * *

The knock on Alex’s door was unexpected. Both Furiad and Alex started at the sound, but Furiad was quicker to react, standing up immediately and sliding his chair back under the table. The angel headed for the door as Alex rolled down the sleeve of his henley. He saw the remaining wine in Furiad’s goblet and without thinking poured it into his own goblet, and then put the other goblet away. Furiad looked over his shoulder once and a silent communication passed between the two of them. Being caught socializing might prove dangerous and Alex nodded once to show that he was ready.

Furiad opened the door. 

“Keeping the Chosen One company?” came Gabriel’s voice. 

Alex inwardly grimaced. Gabriel visiting him after dinner. This was a bad sign.

Furiad chose not to answer Gabriel’s rhetorical question, merely holding the door open and bowing his head deferentially. Gabriel stepped inside the room and much to Alex’s dismay, the Archangel was not alone. Two other angels accompanied him that Alex had never seen before and judging by the way Gabriel was behaving, these two angels were special. The first was a female of uncommon beauty. Her skin was the color of caramel, her eyes warm and dark. Slightly behind her walked a tall blond angel, taller even than Michael. He, too, carried himself in a stately fashion. If Michael’s beauty was liquid like the night, then this angel carried the ethereal quality of the day. Alex found his beauty almost unbearable. He managed to tear his eyes away from his two new guests and focus on Gabriel. 

“So this is the Chosen One,” the female angel was saying. Her voice was as rich and seductive as her caramel skin. 

“Yes,” Gabriel replied, a distinct note of pride in his voice as though Alex were a prized possession that he were showing off. 

“And you are?” Alex said brusquely, eyeing the stunning angel in front of him. 

“Be polite, Alex,” Gabriel admonished him, but Alex could also hear the veiled threat in the Archangel’s tone. “This is my sister, Raphael.” 

Alex could feel his heart sinking some more. Another Archangel. First Uriel and now Raphael. Gabriel was making powerful allies. 

“Pleased to meet you, Chosen One,” Raphael said, extending her hand.

Alex looked at the proffered hand a moment longer before reaching out and shaking it. Raphael’s grip was firm and she held Alex’s hand longer than necessary, forcing him to look straight into her eyes. She was assessing him. Alex could feel her power too. It further reinforced his belief that Archangels could manifest their power like a physical force. 

When Raphael released his hand, his gaze was immediately drawn to her companion, the statuesque blond angel that stood to her right. Alex wondered why he hadn’t been introduced. There was something familiar about him, compelling and magnetic, even though Alex had never seen him before. Was he another Archangel? Alex found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from him. He was so rapt by this stranger that he almost missed what Raphael was saying. 

“Leave us, Gabriel.” 

It was a command, not a request and Alex discreetly looked at his captor. Would the Archangel agree? The expression on Gabriel’s face was calculating, but also . . . was Alex reading this correctly? Almost . . . uncertain. It made him wonder what Raphael had over her brother that Gabriel would not immediately refuse. Instead, Gabriel nodded slightly and made to leave.

“A few minutes,” Gabriel agreed. “Then we have much to discuss.” 

“Yes,” Raphael said, her eyes never leaving Alex’s face. “Have your guard wait outside.” 

Alex watched as Gabriel left, Furiad closing the door behind both of them. When they had gone, he looked back warily at Raphael, visions of his first uncomfortable meeting with Uriel coming to mind. If only Michael were here . . . 

But Raphael had stepped away from him and the mysterious, silent blond angel approached him instead. That magnetic pull was back and Alex felt rooted to the spot. Without any hesitation, the strange angel walked straight up to Alex and placed his right hand on the back of Alex’s neck in such a familiar gesture that Alex instantly knew. 

“Michael?” he said, hardly daring to believe. 

A slight smile curved the corner of the angel’s lips (another familiar sight) before he replied. “Yes,” he said simply. 

The relief that flooded through Alex was indescribable and he embraced the Archangel without thinking. This body didn’t smell like Michael, but the hand that was on his back, tracing a pattern that only Michael knew, only strengthened Alex’s belief. He hugged Michael tighter and was loathed to release him, only doing so when he felt the Archangel begin to pull away. They didn’t have much time. 

“How is this possible?” Alex asked, one hand still on Michael’s hip. 

Two of the Archangel’s fingers were tracing the side of Alex’s face and it was all Alex could do to prevent himself from leaning into the touch.

“Gabriel is not the only one who learned this little trick,” Michael answered, the faintest amusement underpinning his voice. 

“Well,” Alex said, giving Michael an appreciative once over. “This body is . . . it’s really hot.” 

“Ithuriel thanks you for the compliment,” Michael replied, the amusement in his voice growing stronger. 

“Ithuriel?” Alex repeated the name uncertainly. “What? You mean, he’s conscious?”

Michael nodded. “This isn’t a ‘traditional’ possession,” he explained. “It’s more like . . .” Michael paused, searching for the right word. “Sharing space,” he said at last. “Ithuriel is a willing host. I would not have been able to get past Gabriel’s throne room otherwise,” he added. “Gabriel would’ve known it was me.” 

At that moment, Raphael stepped forward again, placing a hand on Michael’s arm. Alex had temporarily forgotten about her. 

“We haven’t much time,” she reminded her brother, before moving away to give them some privacy. 

“Take me with you,” Alex said, stepping into Michael’s space again.

“Soon,” Michael answered and Alex felt his heart sink. Michael must have sensed his dampening spirits because that hand was on his nape again and this time Alex did lean into the touch, covering Michael’s hand with his own as if he meant to keep him there. 

“Are you all right?” the Archangel asked him. “Has Gabriel hurt you?” 

“I’m fine,” Alex replied, but there was a hesitancy in his answer that he knows Michael must have heard. “I’m fine,” he said again, but it still sounded too much like a denial. 

Michael’s grip on his nape tightened. 

“You must do what Gabriel says.” 

“What?” Alex said in shock. “You can’t mean that,” he protested, trying to shake his head but Michael’s grip was firm. 

“I want you to be safe,” the Archangel said seriously. “Gabriel _will_ hurt you to get what he wants.” He stroked Alex’s cheek with his thumb. “We will be together soon,” he said in a softer tone. “I promise.”

“When?” Alex pressed. 

“I cannot say,” Michael admitted. “But plans are in motion. You and Noma must be prepared to act quickly when the opportunity presents itself.” 

“You’re unbelievable,” Alex muttered, but he knew even before the words left his mouth that he would do as Michael asked. In the beginning, Michael had asked for his trust and Alex had been slow and reluctant to give it. Now Michael had it completely. There was no one in this world whom Alex trusted more. _This_ , Alex thought belatedly, _is the meaning of faith_.

He could sense the Archangel about to release him. Michael had come to check up on him personally and that task was completed. Alex didn’t know what other tasks the Archangel had to do, but if he could’ve used sheer will to prolong this moment, he would have. As it was he leaned in impulsively, one hand still on Michael’s hip, the other hand reaching forward to pull the Archangel down for a kiss. He didn’t care that Raphael was in the room with them or worse, that Michael was in another angel’s body and said angel was actually conscious. All that mattered was he hadn’t seen Michael in nearly two months, that they’d parted on the worst of terms, that Alex regretted their actions, that he dreamed of Michael nearly every night and, despite the Archangel’s assurances, he didn’t really know when – or _if_ – he would see Michael again. He didn’t want the kiss to feel desperate, but he knew that his desperation was bleeding through nonetheless. Michael took his desperation and quelled it. Similar to their embrace, the Archangel didn’t taste like himself but Alex knew it was him from the sweep of his tongue, from the way Michael took command of the kiss, from the familiarity of their give and take. 

“I love you,” he whispered, unable to stop the words from escaping as he rested his forehead against Michael’s. He remembered Gabriel’s insinuation that Michael had used his love to bind him. Alex didn’t believe it, but if only . . . 

“Be _safe_ , Alex,” Michael said. 

Alex didn’t miss the stress on the word ‘safe,’ nor how the Archangel’s eyes seemed to bore straight into his soul. 

Michael stepped away and Alex felt the loss acutely. 

“I will see you again soon,” the Archangel told him. 

Alex could only nod in reply.

* * * * *

Gabriel was not waiting for them when Michael and Raphael stepped out of Alex’s room. Furiad was standing at attention at the door’s entrance. There was another guard with him.

“I am to escort you to Gabriel’s study,” Furiad informed the two angels. 

“Very well,” Raphael agreed, gesturing that Furiad should walk ahead and that they would follow. 

Furiad acquiesced and Raphael and Michael fell into step some distance behind him. Raphael spoke in hushed tones in the high language of the angelic host that not all the Powers were well versed in. 

“I see now why you have not been interested in other partners,” Raphael began. 

“Now is not the time,” Michael said, swiftly cutting her off. 

Raphael smiled at her brother’s evasive tactic. “Why did you not tell him that you loved him?” she asked instead. “Would it have been a lie?” 

“It is not what he needed to hear.” 

Raphael looked like she disagreed. “Twenty-five years you have lived among them,” she commented. “Yet you understand so little of their nature.” She stopped walking and turned to face him. 

Michael stopped as well. At the end of the hallway, Furiad had also stopped, standing in profile as he waited patiently for the two of them to catch up. Michael gestured towards their escort. 

“Gabriel is waiting,” he told his sister. 

“You will not join us?” 

“I have heard enough of his sermonizing and his platitudes,” Michael answered. “He will trust you more,” he added. “If Ithuriel is not in the room with him.” 

“Then what will you do?” 

“I will seek out Sammael. And I believe a tour of this eyrie is in order.” 

“How much time do you need?” 

“An hour is sufficient, but whatever you deem necessary in your dealings with Gabriel will do. I trust your judgment.” 

Raphael nodded. 

“Look for me in the throne room when you are done,” Michael instructed. 

“I will see you there.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing like a new season to spark one's creativity, especially for an under appreciated pairing like Malex. As much as I'm enjoying the second season (particularly Michael's storyline - compelling stuff!), this fic exists in its own little world and completely disregards the events of S2. Not to mention that this story was plotted out back in December. I just got derailed by RL and distracted by other fandoms. The usual. 
> 
> Hope you still enjoy the fic!

After parting ways with Raphael, Michael and Ithuriel retired to Ithuriel’s guild house for the night. The trip to Gabriel’s eyrie had been a success. Michael had been able to make contact with Alex, as well as Sammael. The former Angel of Death had earned Gabriel’s trust, and his delegation had relocated to the eyrie two weeks prior. Gabriel’s confidence was overflowing. The angelic host had flocked to his banner and Michael was privately concerned at the size of Gabriel’s army. Now that he had seen it firsthand, he knew that Vega’s defenses would be severely tested against Gabriel’s forces, and he was no longer there to protect the city.

Still, it was Gabriel’s overconfidence that would be his undoing. He had lowered his guard as Michael had suspected. This could be seen in the way his brother was willing to overlook Michael’s long history with Sammael. Having Sammael, and now Raphael, on his side (or so Gabriel thought) increased Gabriel’s standing among the angelic host. It didn’t matter that only a select few knew that Gabriel had made virtually no progress with the Chosen One and was no closer to deciphering the tattoos. Gabriel understood, better than Michael ever did, that appearance was everything. 

Michael’s semi-possession of Ithuriel could also have not gone any smoother. The spell had been tricky, trickier than an outright possession would’ve been. Ithuriel had been willing to submit to a complete possession, but Michael had known that the moment Gabriel looked into Ithuriel’s eyes, he would’ve recognized his twin and their whole plan would’ve collapsed. It would be challenging enough getting Ithuriel into the eyrie, but Raphael had been splendidly convincing. Michael preferred not to dwell on the thought that both Raphael and her twin were masters of deception. 

Uncertain of how much power to exert over the semi-possession and the effective distance of the spell, Michael had journeyed half of the way with Raphael and Ithuriel to Gabriel’s eyrie. He’d stopped at a rocky outcropping where he’d performed the spell on Ithuriel. The possession had been strange at first, but familiar as well. Michael knew his second-in-command intimately, but for his consciousness to be nestled in the back of Ithuriel’s mind had been another level of intimacy entirely. Ithuriel could keep no secrets from him, and though Michael had not been actively invading Ithuriel’s privacy, he’d also sensed that Ithuriel was an open book, that his second-in-command would not keep anything from him. It had made Michael realize how much he depended on Ithuriel, how unwavering was Ithuriel’s love and loyalty to him. It was humbling that amidst his failure with Alex, he could still command such unconditional love and respect. 

Now the two of them were back in Ithuriel’s guild house. Unlike the brick red guild house of the House of Pythia, the House of Tyrol was made of sand-colored brick. Ithuriel was showing Michael to his room on the third floor. 

“My room is two doors down,” Ithuriel explained. “If you need anything.” 

Michael surveyed the room. It was simple but elegant with none of Pythia’s flash and ostentation. It reminded him of Ithuriel. It hadn’t taken Michael long to realize that the guild houses (perhaps the guilds themselves) displayed the temperament of their guild masters. When he turned around, he saw that Ithuriel still lingered in the doorway. He motioned for the other angel to enter and Ithuriel did so, closing the door behind him. Michael walked to a side table where a decanter of brandy and several glasses were placed. It occurred to him that though he and Ithuriel had journeyed together from San Francisco, they’d spent hardly any time together alone, and the rest of the time had been about planning, strategizing and infiltrating Gabriel’s eyrie. Michael poured two glasses of the brandy and passed the other one to Ithuriel.

Ithuriel swirled the amber liquid before glancing up. “Should we make a toast?” he asked. “It’s a human custom.”

“A celebratory one,” Michael agreed. “We should celebrate _after_ we have retrieved Alex.” 

“Alex Lannon,” Ithuriel said, taking a seat on the ivory settee in the room. “He is not what I expected.” 

“No?” Michael questioned, taking a seat beside his friend. “And what did you expect?”

Ithuriel took a drink of his brandy, his expression contemplative. “I am not certain,” he admitted. “Younger than what I thought he would be, but strong too. Charismatic.” He looked Michael in the eye. “He possesses conviction.” 

Michael’s grin was wry. “The conviction is a recent development,” he replied. “Perhaps an aftereffect of being with Gabriel. Alex was far from welcoming of his destiny when it was first revealed to him.” 

“It’s not every day that you find out you’re a new Messiah,” Ithuriel pointed out. 

“No,” Michael agreed with a soft smile. “It is not.” 

“His feelings for you run very deep,” Ithuriel went on. “As do your feelings for him.” 

Michael leaned back against the settee, balancing his glass on one knee. Being in Ithuriel’s company again brought out an ease in him that he had not felt in a long time. 

“Alex is a test,” the Archangel said thoughtfully. “And I have already failed him once. I cannot fail him again.”

Ithuriel leaned back as well, but he drew his right leg up so that he was sitting sideways facing Michael. “I do not know precisely how you have failed him,” he said seriously. “But the love he holds for you means that he has forgiven whatever trespass you have committed against him.” 

Michael reached out with his free hand and traced the side of Ithuriel’s face. “Perhaps I do not deserve his forgiveness,” he said, as Ithuriel leaned into his touch. 

“Perhaps,” Ithuriel agreed. “But you will earn it. You have always believed in redemption, and in second chances. Why should this be any different?” 

Michael smiled, genuine and warm. “Alex is not the only one with conviction,” he said. 

“Alex and I have had the same teacher,” Ithuriel replied. 

“And how have you been?” Michael asked, effortlessly changing the subject as he dropped his free hand onto Ithuriel’s knee. 

“As well as can be expected,” Ithuriel said, eyes following Michael’s long fingers as they trailed across his knee. 

“That does not seem to be very well,” Michael observed. “Based on what I gleaned from you earlier.”

Ithuriel shifted, slightly uncomfortable at Michael’s reference to the possession spell. “At times, it’s been difficult,” he said at last. “I have missed you.” 

“We have been separated for far longer than twenty-five years,” Michael reminded him.

“This is different,” Ithuriel told him somberly. “We have never been without Father’s orders before. There is nothing but uncertainty now. That is why so many of our kind have lost their way, why they have rallied to Gabriel’s cause. He gives them order and purpose. It is a seductive promise.” 

“And Raphael? Has she not given you order and purpose?” 

Ithuriel sighed. “Raphael has been biding her time,” he said. “She has assimilated among the humans better than I expected. Better than _you_ ,” he added, giving Michael a long look to which Michael only smiled in return. “But it is still not the same.” 

“No, it is not,” Michael agreed. His hand was still on Ithuriel’s knee. 

The other angel leaned in and asked in a low voice, “May I stay with you tonight?” 

Michael shouldn’t have been surprised by the question, and yet he still was. He and Ithuriel had been lovers for countless millennia, from before the world was made. It was to be expected that Ithuriel would seek comfort and assurance from him now, when he was lost and struggling with his own faith and purpose. Michael recalled his sister’s words from the day before, “He would have come to your bed if you’d asked.” But Michael had not thought to ask. 

Ithuriel must’ve sensed his hesitation because he said just as quietly, “You can pretend that I’m him.” 

The suggestion startled Michael and his reaction was instinctual, pulling the other angel towards him and giving him a long, deep kiss. 

“Ithuriel,” Michael chastised softly, trailing a line of kisses up the other angel’s jaw. “I would never do that to you.”

* * * * *

Three days had passed since Michael had covertly visited Gabriel’s eyrie. Alex observed how Gabriel had been in exceedingly high spirits since then, and why not? The Archangel now believed that Raphael was on his side too. Privately, Alex felt a great deal of satisfaction that this was not the case, although he was careful not to show it. He had to act exactly the same as before so as not to arouse Gabriel’s suspicion, which was not so difficult since being around Gabriel still made his skin crawl.

Furiad had also resumed his duties as Alex’s primary guard, and though they never spoke of Alex’s suggestion that Furiad could switch allegiances from Gabriel to Michael, Alex could sense a shift in their relationship. Furiad hadn’t suddenly become more talkative or outgoing (‘gregarious’ was a word that Alex would never associate with the higher angel), but he was definitely more at ease around his human charge. Occasionally, he would join Alex for a drink as he had the night Michael had visited. At times, Alex even thought that Furiad displayed a kind of protectiveness over him, especially when they were outside of Alex’s room. Aside from those instances, nothing seemed to be outwardly different between the two of them, but Alex could feel the change nonetheless. Noma had been right. Attempting to win Furiad over to their side had been the right play. Now if only Alex could see Noma again too. 

This afternoon Alex was again brought to Gabriel’s study. Furiad gave him a slight nod before opening the door and escorting Alex inside. Alex always felt a slight anxiety now whenever he was in Gabriel’s presence. It wasn’t just because of Gabriel’s previous assault on him; it was because Michael had asked him to do what Gabriel wanted. Alex thought that was a dangerous proposition, but his faith in Michael had become unshakeable. Luckily for him, Gabriel had put any kind of seduction on the back burner, at least temporarily. Recently, they’d spent their time deciphering ancient texts, and Alex was getting an education out of it. These texts seemed important and it’s not like Alex could photocopy them for future reference so he did his best to remember what he could. Gabriel was clearly looking for something, but he wouldn’t tell Alex what. Every now and then a gleam would spark in the Archangel’s eyes and he’d put away one of the scrolls. Gabriel was accumulating the knowledge he sought, and with each new piece that he found, Alex could feel his heart sink a little more. He knew that he was running out of time. 

This afternoon, however, was different. Gabriel’s study was immaculate, the customary piles of dusty scrolls and books all in their proper place. Instantly, Alex was on his guard. 

“Finally got the cleaning lady to drop by?” Alex asked dryly when he heard the door open. 

He was calmly standing in the center of the room on a fine red Persian carpet in front of Gabriel’s desk, which is where he always waited for the Archangel, his back to the study’s door. Alex felt Gabriel behind him before he actually saw the Archangel.

“You should be thankful I like your sense of humor,” Gabriel told him mildly. “Since we’re going to be spending more time together.” 

“You mean more than we are now?” 

Gabriel stopped in front of him, his smile disturbingly knowing. “ _Much more_ than we are now,” he assured Alex. “You won’t be able to get me out of your mind,” he added, somewhat enigmatically.

Alex didn’t return Gabriel’s smile. He never did. When he glanced down, he saw that Gabriel was holding something – a clay bowl with strange markings all along its side. Alex had begun to recognize some of the symbols. He wondered if he looked long enough at the markings whether the script would become legible to him. The same thought must’ve occurred to Gabriel because he quickly turned around and took the bowl out of Alex’s sight. 

“So, what are we doing today?” Alex asked, a little testily. 

“Art.” 

“Art?” 

“Painting,” Gabriel said, more specifically. “You do like painting. Don’t you, Chosen One?” 

“Not as much as your sister,” Alex said defiantly. 

Alex could feel rather than see Gabriel’s smile. “Ah, yes,” the Archangel said, his voice dripping with commiseration. “Uriel will be sorry to have missed our little art session, but don’t worry. She’ll be very pleased with the fruits of our labor.” 

When Gabriel turned around again and placed the bowl at the center of his desk, Alex saw that it was no longer empty. Gabriel must’ve poured something into it while he had been at the back of the study. Now the bowl was half-filled with a viscous liquid like a thick red paint. 

“One more ingredient left,” the Archangel told him, almost conspiratorially as he rolled up the sleeve of his black shirt. Then, to Alex’s shock, Gabriel cut his arm with a knife and allowed his blood to flow freely into the bowl. As the bowl filled with Gabriel’s blood, the Archangel began to speak in low words that Alex did not understand. 

_He’s casting a spell_ , Alex realized with alarm. The markings on the side of the bowl were now glowing and the liquid inside sizzled when it came into contact with Gabriel’s blood. 

After what felt like the longest seconds of Alex’s life, Gabriel stopped speaking, the markings returned to normal and the liquid in the bowl once again looked like simple red paint. The Archangel looked satisfied. 

“Strip,” he ordered. 

Every bone in Alex’s body told him not to comply, but his promise to Michael was in the forefront of his mind. _What was a little torture?_ he thought. To prevent Gabriel from getting what he wanted, at least for a while longer? 

Gabriel’s satisfied expression was marred by a frown. “Strip, Chosen One,” he said again, his voice taking on a harder edge. 

Alex gritted his teeth and did as he was told. When he was standing bare chested in front of Gabriel, the Archangel smiled once more, his good humor back, and took out a fine-tipped brush from his desk.

“Let’s begin on the left side, shall we?” Gabriel asked, as though Alex had a say in the matter. “Left arm up,” he ordered, tapping Alex’s shoulder with the brush. 

Alex lifted his left arm. Gabriel started at his wrist and it didn’t take Alex long to figure out that the Archangel was tracing over the intricate tattoos with his mysterious red paint. He could actually feel the burn of the paint being applied, a different kind of burn from when the tattoos shifted. It didn’t exactly hurt. The burning sensation sort of coalesced into a tolerable red heat as Gabriel made his way up Alex’s arm. 

“What happened to originality?” Alex asked scornfully, as Gabriel worked on his forearm. 

“Originality is overrated,” Gabriel answered, his eyes never leaving his task. “As are Messiahs,” he added, finally giving Alex a sideways look. “Get comfortable, Chosen One. We’re going to be here for a while.”

* * * * *

Gabriel was working on Alex’s back when it happened – the unmistakable sound of an explosion. The Archangel was completely undeterred and continued painting as though nothing was amiss, even though Alex could plainly hear panicked shouting outside the study door. When a second explosion rocked the foundations of the eyrie and the floor of the study trembled causing Gabriel to make a mistake in his work, the Archangel cursed quietly.

“Shouldn’t you look into that?” Alex asked him. “It sounds serious.” 

Behind him, Alex could hear the Archangel’s sigh of irritation. Nothing was more important to Gabriel at this moment than finishing his spell, just as nothing was more important to Alex than interrupting it somehow. Alex didn’t need further assistance, however, as one of Gabriel’s lieutenants burst through the door. 

“Gabriel, we are under attack!” the angel said. 

Now that the door was open, the noise and chaos from the attack clearly entered the room. There were the short sharp bursts from automatic weapons fire, as well as other firearms. When a third explosion sent a spray of rubble into the room, shaking the rocky walls and knocking Alex off his feet, Gabriel finally reacted, his wings spreading out majestically behind him. 

“Who is attacking us?” he snarled at his lieutenant. 

The higher angel drew back slightly from Gabriel’s wrath, instinctively knowing that his answer would not please his master. “We do not know,” he said, head bowed in submission. 

Gabriel turned on Alex, his careful artwork forgotten as he grabbed him roughly around the throat so that Alex choked for breath. “I hope your little girlfriend isn’t foolish enough to try and get you back,” he said, practically hurling Alex on the floor in his anger. “I will lay waste to Vega if she is behind this,” he promised darkly. “Nero,” he said, addressing his lieutenant. “Escort the Chosen One back to his room and keep a close eye on him. The silly boy might think this is a chance for him to escape.” 

With these words, Gabriel swept out of the study.

* * * * *

The hallway was filled with smoke from the explosions. Alex coughed as he walked, Nero gripping him roughly by the arm. They were rounding the corner leading to his room when they were suddenly blocked by Furiad. Alex almost walked into the other angel and Furiad held onto his other arm to steady him.

Furiad didn’t speak to Alex, but addressed his fellow guard. “I’ll take the prisoner from here,” Furiad stated. 

Nero didn’t relinquish his grip on Alex’s arm. Alex was literally trapped between the two higher angels. “Gabriel gave me specific instructions to bring him to his room and keep an eye on him,” Nero said.

Furiad stepped forward into Nero’s space, using his greater physicality to intimidate the other angel. “I am the Chosen One’s primary guard,” he said. “He is _my_ responsibility.” 

Even Alex could read the hesitation in Nero’s eyes. They were both aware of Furiad’s seniority in rank. 

“Gabriel needs help in the eastern wing,” Furiad continued, aware that Nero’s resolve was breaking. “Leave the Chosen One to me.”

Alex exhaled when Nero finally let go of his arm. The angel nodded once to Furiad before turning and heading for what Alex presumed was the eastern wing. Furiad’s grip on Alex’s other arm was almost as strong as he walked Alex the rest of the way. When they were standing outside Alex’s door, Alex stopped suddenly and said, “We have to get to Noma.” 

Furiad’s expression remained infuriatingly impassive. 

“We have to get to Noma,” Alex repeated more forcefully. When Furiad still didn’t react, Alex leaned in. “Michael told me to be prepared,” he said. “That night when Raphael and Ithuriel came to visit me? Michael passed a message through them. They’re his _allies_. Who do you think is attacking the eyrie now?” 

Furiad’s expression didn’t change, but he finally replied. “Come with me.”

The walk to Noma’s room was shorter than Alex had anticipated. He’d known that Noma’s room was near his, but he hadn’t known precisely where. To Alex’s surprise – and obviously Furiad’s as well – there was no guard posted outside Noma’s door. Silently, Furiad gestured that Alex should remain behind him, and Alex did so once he saw Furiad draw his sword. He grinned to himself. He’d been right about Furiad’s protective side. 

Furiad opened the door cautiously. From where Alex was standing behind the angel, the room appeared to be empty. _Shit_ , he thought. What if Noma had gone to look for him? He hadn’t seen Noma in days. There’d been no contact between them at all.

As soon as Furiad stepped in the room, a flash of steel was all the warning the angel had before he was fighting back against an unknown assailant. Furiad was an excellent swordsman and he pushed inside the room, turning his defensive strikes into offensive blows. 

“Wait! Stop! Stop!” 

It was the sound of Noma’s cries that had Alex rushing into the room, heedless of his own safety. Furiad, ever aware of his surroundings, kept Alex behind him, his sword still drawn. Alex saw Noma unharmed and pleading with another angel, the one whom Furiad had apparently been fighting. Alex didn’t recognize him, but this unknown angel was enormous. He was taller and broader than Furiad, probably taller than Michael too. He was dark-skinned and sported an impressive set of dreadlocks, his eyes also a fierce red. 

“He’s with us,” Noma was saying. The strange angel looked at her sharply. Disbelievingly. 

“It’s true,” Alex said, pushing in front of Furiad, despite the latter’s wishes. “I asked Furiad to bring me here.” He quickly looked at Noma. “You okay, Nomes?” 

“Fine, Alex. I’m fine,” Noma assured him. “This,” she said, gesturing at her threatening-looking companion, “is Sammael.” 

“Alex Lannon,” Sammael said in a deep, rich voice. “It is good to meet you at last.” 

“Likewise,” Alex said, still a little intimidated by Sammael’s imposing presence. This was the Angel of Death, he reminded himself. “I take it that’s your handiwork,” he said, vaguely motioning towards the commotion outside. 

Sammael gave a little bow that had Alex grinning in spite of their situation. So, the Angel of Death had a personality too. Then Sammael’s expression grew serious. “Michael is waiting for you,” he said. “There is a tunnel in the dungeons that leads to an old sewer gate. Follow it outside. I have told Noma how to find it.” 

“Furiad knows the layout of the eyrie better,” Alex said, before he turned to look at other angel. While Alex had been speaking to Noma and Sammael, Furiad had closed and locked the door. “You have to come with us,” Alex told him, as Furiad joined their little circle. “Gabriel’s gonna find out you helped us and no points for guessing what he’ll do.” 

Furiad looked even grimmer than usual. “And if I go with you,” he countered. “Michael could just as easily run me through with his sword.” 

“No, he won’t,” Noma insisted at the same time that Alex said, “That’s not gonna happen.” The two friends exchanged looks. Things had changed a great deal if they’d both turned into Furiad’s private cheering squad. 

“Whatever you decide,” Sammael said, interrupting them. “Do it quickly. My soldiers can’t hold off Gabriel’s forces for much longer.” 

“What about you?” Alex suddenly said, looking at Sammael. “Won’t Gabriel know that you betrayed him as well?” 

“Do not worry,” Sammael said in a calm measured voice. “My people and I have our own escape plan.” He placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Give Michael my best.” 

“Can’t you do that yourself?” Alex asked, a little surprised. 

Sammael did not answer. “Go, Alex Lannon,” he said. “This will all be for nothing if you do not escape.” 

“C’mon Alex,” Noma said, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him towards the door. “We have to go.” 

Alex let himself be pulled away. He was about to drag Furiad with them but the higher angel was already at the door. It appeared Furiad had made his decision and Alex was relieved. 

“The dungeons are this way,” Furiad said, one hand on the doorknob. 

“Do you know the tunnel that Sammael described?” Alex asked him. 

“Yes,” Furiad answered. “Follow me.”

* * * * *

The distraction that Sammael’s warriors caused was on the opposite end of the eyrie from the dungeons. Almost all of Gabriel’s forces had convened in that area, and Alex and his cohorts met only a handful of angels on their way to the dungeons. No one questioned their presence since Alex and Noma were being escorted by Furiad, and both were well-known prisoners of Gabriel’s. It wasn’t unreasonable to think that Gabriel had had his prisoners moved to the dungeons during an attack. Furthermore, Furiad made them keep up appearances by tying their hands behind their backs (in loose knots so that both Alex and Noma could free themselves if needed), and having them walk ahead of him.

“Turn left here,” Furiad said when they reached a junction in the dungeons. 

The little group turned, following the path to an alcove similar to the cell that Noma had been kept in before. 

“This is a dead end,” Alex said quietly.

“It is not,” Furiad answered. He moved deeper into the shadows of the alcove, parting some vines that had grown over another entrance. With a firm tug, he pulled the rusty gate open. “Down here,” he instructed. 

Alex entered first, followed by Noma and then Furiad, who closed the gate behind him, arranging the vines so they covered the gate once more. They walked down a short circular stone staircase to the level below. 

“The gate Sammael spoke of travels underneath the dungeons,” Furiad told them, lighting a torch at the base of the staircase. Beside him, Alex and Noma began to undo the knots about their hands. 

“This doesn’t look like a sewer system,” Noma observed in a low voice as Furiad took the lead. Alex walked in between the two angels, and Noma brought up the rear. 

“According to Gabriel, it has not been used as a sewer system in centuries,” Furiad explained. 

“Gabriel knows about this place?” Alex asked apprehensively. 

“Gabriel knows the eyrie better than anyone else,” Furiad replied in a not-at-all comforting tone. “There is a reason why he chose it as his stronghold.” 

“If this used to be a sewer system, then this tunnel will connect with the rest of the eyrie,” Noma pressed. 

“Correct,” Furiad said. 

“So, we could run into other angels down here,” Alex said, following Noma’s line of reasoning. 

“It is possible,” Furiad admitted. “Hopefully Sammael’s forces are keeping them occupied.” 

“Y’know,” Alex whispered. “You really need to work on your bedside manner. You’re not being reassuring.” 

“I was not aware that reassurance was necessary for escape,” Furiad said, so calmly and so evenly that Alex couldn’t help but grin behind him. 

Luck seemed to be on their side as the three of them didn’t encounter anyone else as Furiad led them through the tunnels. 

“We are near,” Furiad whispered. 

Just then, the sound of voices coming from the opposite end of the tunnel reached them. 

“Why are we down here?” someone whined. 

“Because Gabriel said to check the tunnels,” came a testy reply. 

“But why?” the first voice said. 

“Because Gabriel said so!” 

“There’s no one down here. We should be going after those fuckers that bombed us.”

Furiad put out his torch before the light could be seen by the approaching angels, and the three of them crouched low in the tunnel. They could feel a breeze blowing in from the gate. Furiad was right. They were near the exit. 

“We should make a run for it,” Noma whispered. 

“We should stand and fight,” Furiad countered. 

“With what?” Alex asked. “We don’t have any weapons.” 

Furiad tapped the hilt of his sword. 

“Noma and I are unarmed,” Alex revised. “And they could just gun us down. We don’t know how many of them there are.” 

“Then we run,” Noma said again, the voices steadily moving towards them.

Alex could barely see Furiad in the darkness, but he could sense the angel’s displeasure. “We run,” he agreed, reaching out and placing a hand on Furiad’s shoulder. He felt Furiad nod and then they were moving towards the tunnel’s entrance, Alex relying on Furiad’s keen sight and silently praying that he wouldn’t trip in the darkness. They reached the entrance quickly enough but Alex saw through the moonlight that filtered through that it was barred. 

“Shit,” he cursed, hands gripping the bars in frustration. “We have to get this open.” 

“Alex, they’re coming,” Noma warned.

She was right. The voices were growing louder and there were clearly more than two of them. There was nowhere to hide in the tunnel and it was only a matter of moments before their torches would come into view. 

“Stand back,” a familiar voice suddenly commanded.

Alex instantly did so and was rewarded by the sight of Michael and Ithuriel appearing on the other side of the gate. The two angels pulled the grate from its hinges, the sound of the metal giving echoing loudly in the tunnel. 

“There’s someone here!” a voice shouted. 

“Move! Move!” another one yelled. 

“Alex,” Michael said, holding out his hand.

Alex grabbed the Archangel's hand, stepping out into the night and realizing too late that there no ground underfoot. The tunnel exited directly onto the cliff face of the eyrie. But Michael’s other arm was already wrapped around his waist and then they were flying. Below them the commotion in the tunnel was growing louder. Alex could definitely hear the clash of swords and the sounds of gunfire. But as they flew further away and the sounds of fighting grew dimmer, Alex began to relax. He could see that Michael was flying in formation with two other angels. He no longer knew where Noma and Furiad were, but he hoped that they hadn’t been caught in the crossfire and were following them. Suddenly, a voice that Alex recognized addressed Michael. 

“We are being followed,” Ithuriel said on Michael’s right. 

“We can outrun them.” It was Raphael who spoke on Michael’s left. 

“No,” Michael answered. “There must be no witnesses.”

“Take the Chosen One to the rally point,” Raphael advised. “Ithuriel and I will deal with these cretins.”


	8. Chapter 8

When Alex woke up it was to the sun gently warming his face. He basked in the warmth, his eyes still shut. It had been months since he’d felt the sun, trapped as he’d been in his windowless room in Gabriel’s eyrie. The bed he was sleeping on was much harder than he was used to, but the blanket covering him was soft and cozy. Abruptly, Alex opened his eyes remembering that he hadn’t fallen asleep in a bed the previous night, and there most certainly hadn’t been any blankets anywhere. 

Gingerly, Alex sat up as the wing that had been draped about him like a blanket unfurled. Alex had fallen asleep on his side facing Michael. He watched as the Archangel, who appeared to have been awake for some time and was already sitting up, flexed and stretched the wing that had covered Alex. 

“You must be stiff,” Alex observed, instead of greeting Michael with a traditional ‘Good morning.’ 

Michael flexed his wing one last time before it disappeared behind his back. “A little,” he admitted, glancing at Alex. “Did you sleep well?” 

Alex nodded. “Surprisingly well,” he replied. “Considering.” 

Considering he’d finally escaped Gabriel’s eyrie, considering the pursuit by some of Gabriel’s forces, considering the mid-air battle led by Raphael and Ithuriel, considering Furiad’s extreme gesture of repentance towards Michael – it had been an eventful night.

Alex had seen nothing of the mid-air battle that occurred after he, Noma and Furiad had escaped through the tunnels. Michael, undoubtedly loath to leave his two companions behind, had followed his sister’s suggestion and taken Alex away from the impending battle. Alex didn’t know how many angels were pursuing them, and there had been no chance to find out. 

The rally point was some distance from the eyrie but with Michael’s speed it seemed as if they arrived in a matter of minutes. Michael landed on a rocky outcropping overlooking another sheer cliff face. Alex was not particularly fond of heights, but angels seemed to have a thing for high spaces when he recalled the Stratosphere and Gabriel’s eyrie. What had Michael once said? Great heights made the angelic host feel closer to home. Still, without any shelter on the promontory the night wind whipped Alex harshly. Michael seemed to be immune to the cold and Alex realized that the angel probably was. 

“What happens now?” he asked, wrapping his arms around himself in an effort to keep warm. 

“We wait for the others,” Michael answered. 

“Including Sammael?” Alex prodded. “He told me to give you his best, whatever that means.” 

“No,” Michael said with a shake of his head. “Sammael’s role is more than simply providing a distraction for your escape. His goal is to lead Gabriel to believe that he orchestrated your escape for his own purposes, and that you are with him now. Sammael’s followers are very loyal to him.” 

“It’s a power play,” Alex surmised. 

Michael nodded. “One that will divert Gabriel’s attention from me and from Raphael,” he confirmed. “And also from Vega. That is why there must be no witnesses. Gabriel must never know that Raphael or I were at the eyrie tonight.” 

“You think Gabriel will track him down?” 

“That is the plan.” 

“Will Sammael be able to get away?” 

Michael remained silent and Alex found it foreboding. He shivered and it wasn’t just from the wind. The Archangel finally noticed Alex’s reaction to the cold and a wing unfurled, wrapping itself around Alex and drawing the other man to him. Alex welcomed the warmth and the nearness, wrapping his own arms around Michael’s waist and resting his head on the angel’s shoulder. He sighed. 

“Sammael is very resourceful,” Michael said quietly. “He is one of our finest soldiers and an inspiring captain.” He paused. “Sammael also understands that you must be protected at all costs.” 

_He will sacrifice himself for you_ , was the message that remained unsaid.

Alex lifted his head and looked at the Archangel. “How many more will die because of me?” he asked evenly. 

“Many more will die before the war will end,” Michael answered bluntly. “But do not take on yourself the burden of those lives. They are the casualties of war.” 

“What if we could find a way to end this without losing anyone else?” 

“That is a fanciful notion, Alex.” The Archangel’s words were harsh, but his tone remained gentle. “But if it is possible,” he added. “Then we will find a way.” 

Alex sighed again and rested his head once more on Michael’s shoulder. He felt Michael’s wings shift around him so that he was cocooned more fully in their warmth. 

“Are you all right?” Michael asked after a little while, one hand running up and down Alex’s back in a soothing gesture. 

“I’m not injured,” Alex answered, knowing that Michael was inquiring after more than just his physical well-being. But Michael didn’t force the issue. There would be time to deal with the psychological effects of Alex’s captivity. He was still focused on the escape plan. Getting Alex and Noma out of the eyrie had just been a part of it. Getting Alex out of the eyrie _cleanly_ and with no connection to him was another matter.

The two of them waited on the promontory for the others to arrive. There came a point when Alex thought he might actually fall asleep standing up. He felt safe and warm with Michael, even though he knew that safety was an illusion. At last, he thought he detected movement in the sky, and several figures heading in their direction. 

“Is that –?” he began. 

“Yes,” Michael answered. 

Michael spread his wings and Alex immediately felt cold without their embrace. The Archangel flapped them several times in smooth deliberate strokes before resting them against his back. Alex didn’t understand precisely how angels communicated with their wings, but he knew that’s what Michael was doing now. They watched as the group approached the cliff, and then landed. There were five angels, and Alex was relieved to see Noma and Furiad among them. But as soon as Ithuriel landed, his sword was at Furiad’s throat and he brought the other angel to his knees. Furiad did not defend himself. 

“No!” Noma cried, immediately rushing forward. 

At the same moment, Ithuriel asked harshly, “Why are you here?” 

“Speak!” Ithuriel commanded, when Furiad didn’t answer. 

Furiad looked at Alex before looking at Michael. “I am here to see the General,” Furiad replied. 

“He is one of Gabriel’s spies,” Raphael told her brother, coming to stand beside him. 

“He is one of Gabriel’s most ruthless lieutenants,” added the fifth angel whom Alex did not recognize. “And he has been guarding the Chosen One carefully.” 

“I am well aware of Furiad’s ranking in Gabriel’s army,” Michael answered as he stepped forward, but his attention remained focused on the newcomer to their group. “Govad,” Michael addressed him. 

“Yes, General,” Govad replied, bowing respectfully. 

“What news of your master?” 

“Sammael has escaped the eyrie. Half a dozen of his soldiers were slain, but the bombs were strategically placed and very effective. We estimate that a third of Gabriel’s forces were killed or severely injured. But Gabriel is already regrouping,” Govad added. “He will be in pursuit of Sammael soon.” 

“And the group that was pursuing you?” Michael addressed this question to his sister. 

“They are all dead,” Raphael answered. “I made certain of it. Nothing will connect Alex’s escape to us.” 

“Good,” Michael said approvingly. “Then only one question remains,” he went on, returning his attention to Furiad’s kneeling form. 

“Michael, wait,” Alex said, grasping the Archangel’s arm. The action stopped Michael and he gave Alex an inquiring look. “Furiad helped us escape,” Alex explained. “Noma and I might not have been able to find the tunnels without him. And he’s been protecting me from Gabriel as much as he could.” 

Michael gave Alex a long searching look, and Alex hated how quickly they’d fallen into old patterns. The Archangel was once more unreadable to him. 

“He is still a risk,” Raphael said quietly. “This may all be a ruse to gain your trust. It’s the sort of thing Gabriel would do.” 

“I swear, it’s not like that,” Alex said adamantly. “I _know_ him. Noma knows him.” 

“Will you take the risk, brother?”

A preternatural stillness had fallen over Michael as he stood between his sister and his human charge, his eyes never leaving Furiad’s face. Alex was familiar with this eerie stillness and his heart clenched in fear for Furiad. He remembered Michael’s earlier words, ‘There must be no witnesses.’ 

“Michael –” he began again, but the Archangel was moving forward. Alex was about to follow him, but to his great surprise Raphael held out an arm and blocked his path. He turned to look at her and was struck by her fierce beauty, still blazing in the moonlight. There was fire in her eyes, and she reminded him of Uriel. Raphael was deadly, and Alex immediately understood why Michael wanted her as an ally. 

“It is not for you to decide,” Raphael said, so quietly that the words seemed to drift on the wind, meant only for Alex. “Trust in his judgment.” 

Alex sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm himself. Furiad had understood the risk in coming with them, perhaps better than Alex or Noma had understood it. His fate was entirely in Michael’s hands. 

The Archangel walked to where Furiad was kneeling, Ithuriel’s sword still resting against his neck. From where he was standing, Alex didn’t have a very good view. He saw Michael gesture something to Ithuriel and the latter removed his sword from Furiad’s neck but did not re-sheathe it. Instead, Ithuriel held onto his sword, its Empyrean steel glinting like white fire in the moonlight. 

“Why are you here, Furiad?” Michael asked. 

“I have come to repent, General,” Furiad replied, his head bowed. “To beg for your forgiveness, and to pledge my sword to you.” 

Alex was in shock. He had never seen or heard Furiad act so submissive, even before Gabriel. 

“Those are fine sentiments,” Michael said. “But trust is a fragile commodity; difficult to earn and easy to break.” 

Alex swallowed the lump in his throat at Michael’s words. Though the Archangel had not turned to look at him, he felt those words cut straight into his own heart. In a way, they were intended just as much for him as they were for Furiad. 

“How will you,” Michael continued. “The most faithful follower of my enemy, earn my trust?” 

Alex had no idea how Furiad would respond, especially since eloquence was not Furiad’s strong suit. Furiad believed in action, far more than words. Gabriel was the one with the silver tongue. So, Alex shouldn’t have been surprised when Furiad slowly drew out his sword. (At Michael’s side, Ithuriel had tensed again, his grip on his own sword tightening but he did not raise it against Furiad.) Furiad held the blade flat on his hands and presented the sword to Michael, his head still bowed. He was saying something, but Alex couldn’t understand a word since Furiad had slipped into the angelic tongue. He assumed that Furiad was swearing his allegiance to Michael – at least, that’s what it looked like – but Noma’s startled gasp made him think that something else was going on. Even Ithuriel looked surprised and he glanced at Michael as though waiting to see what Michael would do. Michael accepted Furiad’s sword and after briefly admiring the blade in the moonlight, he pointed its tip directly at Furiad’s heart. 

“What’s happening?” Alex asked Raphael, a tendril of fear starting to climb up his spine. 

Beside him, the Archangel looked thoughtful. “Something unexpected,” she replied. 

When Raphael didn’t continue, Alex prodded, “Care to elaborate?” 

Michael was still holding Furiad’s sword against the angel’s heart, but he was also speaking in the angelic tongue. It was some kind of ritual, Alex realized, and for the first time he wished the tattoos had given him the ability to understand the language of the angels as well. 

“It is a life debt,” Raphael said at last. 

“A life debt?” Alex repeated. “Like Furiad swearing allegiance to Michael?” 

Raphael arched a delicate eyebrow, looking both imperious and impressed at the same time. “It is much more than ‘swearing allegiance,’” she said slowly. “Life debts are extremely rare; voluntary ones, rarer still.” 

“It means,” a new voice spoke up on Alex’s other side. “That Furiad’s life belongs to Michael to do with as he wishes. Furiad has given Michael that which is most precious to our kind – his grace. Michael may accept it, in which case Furiad will serve him for eternity unless Michael chooses to revoke the debt or . . .” 

“Or what?” Alex demanded. 

The newcomer exchanged a quick look with Raphael as though asking her permission before continuing. The Archangel’s nod had been barely perceptible. 

“Humans have souls; we angels have our grace. There is no true death, only transformation. Except in this instance,” Govad said. “In this instance if Michael rejects Furiad’s grace then Furiad would truly die. He would not be encased in amber awaiting Father’s return. He would never see Father or any of our kind again. There would only be the black ether and then nothing.” 

As Alex tried to process everything he’d been told, the angel held out his hand. “I am Govad,” he said, introducing himself. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Chosen One.” 

Alex shook Govad’s hand a little awkwardly. “Alex,” he said. “Lannon,” he added as an afterthought. 

Govad nodded, but their attention was immediately drawn back to Michael and Furiad. The tip of Furiad’s sword was now glowing against the angel’s heart, and Alex watched as Furiad’s blade pierced his flesh. To his amazement no blood poured fourth, only the white light that seemed to grow ever brighter. It was on the verge of blinding Alex, and he held up his arm to block its brightness. A second later, a wing was covering the light completely and Alex realized that Raphael was shielding him. Even then Alex could feel an immense shift in the winds; the power of Furiad’s grace being released. 

“Our grace is not for human eyes,” Raphael told him. 

When Raphael finally lowered her wing, Alex didn’t know what he’d find. Part of him thought that he’d see Furiad crumpled on the ground, his body now lifeless and his grace lost to the ether. At least, that’s what he’d understood from Govad’s explanation. The sight that did greet him was thankfully not so morbid. Furiad was standing next to Noma and re-sheathing his sword, while Michael appeared to be giving instructions to the group. Afterwards, the three angels took to the skies as Michael turned around to walk back to where Alex, Raphael and Govad were waiting. 

“The watch has been set,” Michael said to them as he approached. “Govad, will you be rejoining Sammael?” 

“No,” Govad answered. “Sammael believed it would be safer that I remain with you, General.” 

“Very well,” Michael agreed. “We journey to New Delphi in the morning.” 

“New Delphi?” Alex said, genuinely surprised. He hadn’t thought beyond getting out of the eyrie, but he’d automatically assumed that they would be returning to Vega. 

Raphael placed a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “I shall leave you to . . .” she trailed off, but she inclined her head in Alex’s direction. Alex couldn’t be certain, but he thought she looked amused. “Govad, come with me.” 

With a bow, Govad took his leave of Michael and Alex, also taking to the skies on Raphael’s right. 

“New Delphi?” Alex repeated when they were once again alone. “You always warned me about that place.” 

“Things are different,” Michael replied. “New Delphi is a sanctuary for us. My sister, Raphael, rules that city.” 

Alex’s mouth actually dropped open from shock, but he shut it just as quickly. He was also starting to feel the cold again now that Raphael and Govad were gone and the drama from Furiad’s ritual was over. He hugged himself to keep warm as he asked, “Did you always know that she was there?” 

“Yes,” Michael said simply. “I sent Ithuriel to New Delphi to keep an eye on her.” 

Alex was kind of in awe of Michael at the moment. The Archangel had planned ahead, had kept his own sister as a secret weapon. Just when Alex was convinced that Gabriel had methodically outmaneuvered them, Michael had contingency measures all along. 

“What about Vega?” he asked. 

But Michael was done with questions and a second later, Alex had been swept into the Archangel’s embrace and was being thoroughly kissed. Alex’s response was immediate and he pressed himself against Michael, nipping the Archangel’s lower lip before sucking on his tongue. _This_ was the Michael he knew, the taste he remembered; not a stranger’s body and a stranger’s scent. This was their first real kiss in months and Alex could’ve lost himself in it.

“You angels never play fair,” he murmured when the kiss finally ended, his hands still gripping Michael’s shoulders tightly. 

Michael only hummed softly in response, placing a gentle kiss on Alex’s neck. He inhaled Alex’s unique scent before straightening up. “Take my coat,” he said, shrugging it off his shoulders. “I don’t need it,” he added, before Alex could protest. 

Alex had no intention of protesting and he took Michael’s coat gratefully and put it on. “What now?” he asked, more comfortable in the coat’s warmth. It smelled like Michael too, which was a huge bonus. 

“Now you rest,” Michael told him. “We’ll talk more in the morning.” 

“Works for me,” Alex agreed.

* * * * *

In contrast to the luxury of the Stratosphere, Alex soon learned that battlefield comfort wasn’t high on Michael’s list of priorities. He’d eventually fallen asleep on a smooth patch of earth using his arm as a pillow while Michael watched over him, the literal definition of a guardian angel. He also knew that Raphael, Ithuriel, Govad, Noma and now Furiad were rotating the watch among them, making sure that none of Gabriel’s spies were near.

Despite his fatigue, Alex was listless and he still didn’t quite understand what Furiad had done, although he was thankful that Michael had accepted the ‘life debt.’ He’d tossed and turned until Michael had finally settled behind him, propping his head on his hand as he draped a wing over Alex. 

“How does the life debt work?” Alex finally asked. 

Michael chuckled softly. “I thought we’d save the questions for the morning?” he reminded Alex. 

“Last one,” Alex promised. “Can’t sleep anyway.” 

“Furiad’s grace is in my keeping,” Michael explained. “His life is in my hands.” 

“What exactly does that mean?” 

“It means I have a complete awareness of him; of his thoughts, of his memories and of his presence.” 

“Like a possession?” 

“Not quite. I have no control over his physical person. But I would be able to see what he sees, if I chose to.” 

“Freaky. I s’ppose you could kill him with a thought.” 

When Michael didn’t answer, Alex turned over so that he was facing the angel. “Seriously?” he asked, a note of disbelief in his voice. 

“Furiad is bound to me more closely now than anyone in my army.” 

“Is it a two-way thing? Like he can see through your eyes?” 

“No, it is complete submission.” 

“It seems pretty extreme.” 

“It is. But it was also the fastest way for Furiad to prove his loyalty and to earn my trust. You had much to do with his change of heart.” Michael cupped the side of Alex’s face with his free hand. “Will you go to sleep now?” 

Alex laughed, taking Michael’s hand and kissing his knuckles. “You’re treating me like a child,” he chastised. 

“Sometimes you behave like one,” the Archangel replied. 

Michael’s response made Alex laugh again. “We’re not fighting on our first night together again,” he said, resting his head on Michael’s chest. 

“No, we’re not,” Michael murmured, fingers carding through Alex’s hair as his human charge finally closed his eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

New Delphi was unlike anything Alex could have imagined. It was picturesque and idyllic, as though no trace of the Extermination War had touched the city. It was a throwback to a forgotten time. 

“Do not be fooled by its appearance,” Michael warned him, as though reading his thoughts. They were walking through the market square in Ithuriel’s district. “This is a city of assassins and spies; of thieves and criminals of all types.” 

“You mean, it’s like Vega,” Alex joked.

When he grinned at Michael, the Archangel’s stern expression was so familiar (and so welcome) that it only made Alex grin more. He fell into step beside the Archangel, resisting the urge to reach out and hold Michael’s hand. He’d never describe himself as the clingy type nor the touchy-feely type, but he still couldn’t quite believe that he was with Michael again and the need to touch, to make sure that Michael was really _there_ was almost irresistible. 

But holding hands? The idea was so preposterous that it almost made Alex laugh aloud. Not to mention that Michael had fallen into his customary habit of walking with his hands clasped behind his back. Even in the more casual and flowing clothes favored in New Delphi, Michael still carried himself like a soldier. Alex was getting used to thinking of him as a general. Isn’t that what Michael had always been to him anyway, as the head of the Archangel Corps? The only difference now was that as Alex saw Michael interact with more of the Higher Angels, and witnessed the respect they all accorded him – even his own sister, Raphael – Alex understood that Michael had once led legions and legions of angels to do God’s bidding. Michael was simply used to leading. 

Alex was interrupted in his ruminations by a tantalizing array of fruit in one of the stalls. 

“Wow,” he said, unable to hide his amazement as he picked up a green apple. “I’ve never seen fruit so fresh. They don’t make them like this in the –” 

Michael was by his side in an instant and the warning look he shot Alex was just in time to prevent Alex from saying “agri-towers.” But it didn’t make the sentiment any less true. All the crops grown in the agri-towers in Vega were genetically modified. They had to be in order to support the city’s population. Vega grew enough food to feed everyone; the problem was that it wasn’t distributed fairly.

“How much?” Alex asked, holding up the apple to the stall vendor, a pretty woman with dark brown hair. 

Ithuriel had explained the currency system in New Delphi to them when they arrived that morning. Unlike the ration cards in Vega, which were used for food, medical supplies and other necessities, New Delphi relied on a barter system among the different guilds, usually goods in exchange for services. Ithuriel had given their group the tokens of his House to be used in exchange for whatever goods they purchased. The tokens represented the House that you belonged to; which guild would represent and protect you if the need arose. Strangers were not welcome in New Delphi. If any did wander into the city, depending upon the district they found themselves in they were quickly assimilated into the city’s ways or they were eliminated. Michael was right. There was real danger and menace lurking beneath New Delphi’s bucolic existence. Additionally, Alex knew that Raphael had given Michael the seal of Pythia, which pretty much meant that her brother had free rein within the city. And if Alex had been surprised that they were staying at the House of Tyrol instead of the House of Pythia, he didn’t mention it to Michael. Only Govad was an official guest in the House of Pythia. The rest of their group stayed in the House of Tyrol.

The vendor looked at Alex, but her gaze lingered on Michael before she shook her head. “No charge,” she said, taking another apple from the stall and handing it to Michael. “For you . . .” 

The woman dropped her voice suddenly and Alex couldn’t catch what she said, but Michael obviously understood because he nodded. 

“Thank you,” he said aloud. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Alex echoed. He wiped the apple on his caftan as he turned away from the stall. He could still feel the vendor’s gaze following them. “Do they know who you are here?” he asked Michael when they were out of her hearing range, before biting into the fruit. The apple was crunchy with the sweet-sour taste that he liked. Alex almost moaned as the flavor erupted on his taste buds. 

“No,” Michael answered. 

Alex swallowed, giving the Archangel a sideways look. “ _She_ knew you,” he challenged. “What did she say at the end? When she gave you the apple?” 

“She called me the Sword of God.” 

Alex stopped walking and turned to face Michael. They were in a relatively empty place in the square, where no one would be able to eavesdrop on them. The look he gave Michael was questioning. 

“It is one of my names,” Michael said simply. “I have always been Father’s Sword, to inflict punishment and justice as He saw fit.” 

“She’s a Higher Angel,” Alex stated. “Are there many of them here?”

“I am not certain of their numbers but more than there were in Vega. New Delphi has always been a city of neutrality,” Michael explained. “Raphael’s stance is well-known. She has kept their secret and they have kept hers.” 

“So basically, New Delphi is a city populated by Higher Angels.” 

“The human population far outweighs the angelic one,” Michael countered. “But essentially yes, the Higher Angels that wished no part in Gabriel’s war have mostly taken refuge here.” 

“I guess they’re less afraid of Raphael than you,” Alex joked again. 

“Raphael can be quite terrifying.” 

“Yeah, I noticed,” Alex replied, remembering the fierce way the Archangel’s eyes had gleamed in the moonlight the night before. Alex sighed as he resumed walking. “I s’ppose that’s why we’re doing that dog and pony show later,” he added, with an air of resignation. Beside him, he could feel Michael’s amusement.

“My sister does not care much for ceremony,” Michael replied, referring to the dinner that Raphael had planned to introduce Michael and Alex to some of the key leaders in New Delphi – the key _angelic_ leaders. “The dinner will not be as painful as the receptions and soirées at Vega.” 

“You sucked at those,” Alex said with a laugh. “You never even bothered with the dress code. I always thought it spoke volumes about your relationship with Reisen that he never called you out on it.” 

Alex had pulled guard duty a number of times during those formal affairs. He’d found them tedious at best, the blatant luxury and extravagance almost sickening. At least, he’d had Claire’s beauty to dull the pain of the evening, even though socializing with her was taboo. In hindsight, he also realized that those formal affairs had been a way for Michael to get him in the environment of Vega’s political climate. Pulling guard duty was like being a fly on the wall – unobtrusive but observant. Politicking was the name of the game during those receptions and cocktails and dinners, and Alex had been privy to information (and scheming) that he otherwise wouldn’t have known. It was another case of Michael’s training-in-disguise.

“Reisen was not fond of the dress code either,” Michael divulged. “But it is essential for those in the military. And human politics was never my concern.” 

“No, just protecting Vega,” Alex agreed. “I don’t know how to play the political game, Michael,” he said after a moment. “And don’t tell me angels don’t have politics. You guys have _plenty_ of politics.” 

“I don’t care for the politics among humans,” Michael admitted. “Of which Vega was rife. It was Uriel who intervened directly in human affairs, much to Father’s displeasure. But I do know something about the politics among my own kind.” He paused. “Raphael and I cannot force the Higher Angels to join your cause.” At Alex’s disbelieving look, Michael reconsidered. “We would rather _not_ force them to join your cause,” he amended. “A soldier who fights without conviction is a soldier easily defeated. But should those angels choose to side with you they will be _your_ army, and we need an army if we are to defeat my brother.” 

“So, tonight’s about recruitment?” 

“Indeed.” 

“Never thought I’d say this, but I kinda miss the days when it was just training.” 

“The training never stops.” 

“Good to know,” Alex replied somewhat sarcastically, but he couldn’t help but smile. He hated it, but being around Michael again was turning him into a grinning idiot. Impulsively, he stepped into the Archangel’s space, almost placing his free hand on Michael’s hip, the other hand still gripping his half-eaten apple. He thought he could detect a challenge in Michael’s eyes, as though the angel were daring him to show affection in such a public place. They weren’t in Vega. Surely the old rules didn’t apply. 

Alex wasn’t able to find out, however, since Michael broke the eye contact between them, his gaze drifting past Alex to another figure. Alex looked behind him and wasn’t at all surprised to see Ithuriel. He stepped away from Michael, the sexual tension between them dissipating as the space between them increased.

“You and Ithuriel, huh?” Alex said, absently rubbing the skin of his apple before biting into the fruit again. 

“Ithuriel is my second-in-command.” 

“Yeah, I know that,” Alex said, a little exasperated. “I also meant you guys are . . .” he trailed off, unable – or unwilling – to finish the sentence. “I can tell,” he said instead. 

Michael tilted his head to the right, a gesture that Alex felt the Archangel should have patented. It was a single action that conveyed a range of related emotions: inquisitiveness, curiosity, confusion, misunderstanding – sometimes all four at once. 

Alex sighed, his good humor evaporating. “It’s fine,” he said, a tad too defensively, realizing as soon as the words left his mouth that it _wasn’t_ fine. At all. Alex wasn’t prone to jealousy, but the realization that he’d been trapped in Gabriel’s eyrie for almost three months, alone, in danger of being tortured, assaulted or possibly even killed contrasted greatly to Michael’s situation on the outside. Not that the Archangel had had it easy. A lot of planning and groundwork had to have gone into the carefully executed escape. But Michael had been in control of all his actions, had maneuvered allies and resources as he saw fit. Alex had been stripped of all control. Neither had Michael been alone. He’d had his sister, but perhaps more importantly, he’d had Ithuriel. 

_Ithuriel._

There was no denying that Alex had been attracted to the Higher Angel immediately. On the night that Michael had visited him in Ithuriel’s form, he’d felt a compelling magnetic pull to the angel before Ithuriel had even spoken a word. Of course, much of that magnetism had actually been Michael in disguise – Alex had always responded to Michael in a certain way, and apparently it didn’t matter what form Michael was in – but Alex had also found Ithuriel’s body to be very physically attractive. He’d told Michael as much at the time. But now that he was getting to know the Higher Angel better, and watching how Ithuriel interacted with Michael, he discovered his feelings towards the Higher Angel to be much more complicated. Ambivalent. He liked Ithuriel a lot, except he also sort of hated him. He was in awe of the angel, of the countless millennia that he had served with Michael, of the bond that he and Michael shared. It wasn’t the sort of thing Alex could compete with. And he was humbled by Ithuriel’s unwavering love and loyalty that made his own seem paltry by comparison. Alex was mortal, a blip on Michael’s radar. Ithuriel was ageless and eternal. He was there eons before Alex had been born, he would be there long after Alex had passed. 

“I should go back,” Alex said, a little subdued. “Get ready for tonight.” At Michael’s amused expression he added, “I’m not turning into Claire, but a bath would be nice. And I should probably find something to wear.” He gestured at Ithuriel. “You two probably have . . . stuff to talk about.” 

Alex was about to turn away, but Michael’s hand on his arm stopped him. The Archangel gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “I will see you later,” he said. 

Then to Alex’s great surprise, Michael did lean in and kiss him, a gentle brush of lips against lips. It was the first public display of affection Michael had ever shown for him and Alex thought his heart might burst. He licked his lips when Michael pulled away, his look both cocky and satisfied as he eyed the Archangel. 

“Yeah, later,” he agreed. He did turn away then, giving Ithuriel a slight nod, which the angel acknowledged with one of his own, as he passed him. 

“He seems well,” Ithuriel observed, when he was standing beside Michael. 

Michael’s eyes narrowed slightly. “He’s not,” the Archangel replied.

* * * * *

Alex walked back to the guild house on his own. Freedom was an incredible thing, he thought, fully appreciating his situation and breathing in New Delphi’s fresh air. So, New Delphi wasn’t actually the paradise that it appeared to be on the surface. Alex could live with the illusion for a little while longer. He’d finished his apple and was wondering whether Ithuriel’s district had littering laws, when someone fell into step beside him.

It was Furiad. 

Alex was surprised, but didn’t react. He gave the angel a sideways glance. Furiad was as impassive and stoic as ever, although Alex had to admit that the free-flowing robes of New Delphi suited him. 

“Did you pull guard duty here too?” Alex eventually asked as they neared the guild house. “Because that would kind of suck.” 

“It was a logical continuation of my previous duties,” Furiad answered calmly. 

“Careful, Furiad,” Alex said teasingly. “I’m going to start to think you like my company.” 

“It has become tolerable,” the angel deadpanned. 

Alex laughed as the guards on duty at the guild house opened the doors for them and they went inside. They immediately climbed the staircase leading to the second floor.

“A life debt, huh?” Alex said, continuing the conversation. “That was pretty drastic.” 

“It was expedient.” 

They’d reached the room that Alex shared with Michael. Alex went inside, purposely leaving the door open. After a moment, Furiad took the hint and followed Alex, shutting the door behind him. He stood just inside the room, the way he had done in the eyrie when Noma had first started visiting Alex. 

Alex resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead pouring Furiad a glass of brandy and waving the angel over. Furiad’s brow furrowed, but he walked towards Alex, accepting the glass of brandy that Alex offered him.

“It must be strange,” Alex went on. “Having Michael’s presence with you all the time.” 

For a second, Alex thought Furiad would actually shrug his shoulders except that the gesture would be totally uncharacteristic for the angel. Instead, Furiad took a drink of the brandy. 

“It is not unpleasant,” he said at last. 

Used to Furiad’s laconic speech, Alex thought that would be the end of it, but to his surprise the angel continued. 

“In fact, it is rather . . . comforting . . . to have Michael so near,” Furiad said. He seemed almost embarrassed by the confession, but he persevered. “In Heaven, the angelic host has a complete awareness of each other. We are never alone, and there is always the endless Song. But on Earth in these corporal forms and cut off from Father’s light, there is nothing but solitude and silence. Many of my kind cannot bear it. It has driven some of the Dogs of Heaven to madness. I welcome Michael’s presence. It reminds me of home.” 

Alex was stunned into silence. Furiad may not say much, but when he did . . . 

“So . . .” Alex said, uncertain of where to go next with the weight of Furiad’s confession bearing down on him. “Michael’s presence might be a little awkward when you try and patch things up with Noma.” 

At Furiad’s disbelieving expression, Alex made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, please,” he said. “It’s obvious you still carry a torch for her. I say, go for it. I reckon you have a real shot, especially since it was Noma’s idea to try and sway you in the first place.” 

Furiad looked vaguely pleased at this revelation, making Alex’s succeeding grin a bit more devious. “Now that _would_ be weird,” he said. “Doing the deed with Michael’s presence.” 

The look Furiad shot him was murderous. “You are incorrigible,” he stated, reverting to his former stoicism. 

“Michael says that all the time.” 

“He is correct.” 

“I need to take a bath,” Alex said, still grinning as he turned away from Furiad. “You should go find something to do. Sitting out here and waiting for me is just too creepy.” 

“Have you selected something to wear?” 

“Oh my God!” Alex exclaimed, carelessly stripping off his caftan as he disappeared into the bathroom. “Is choosing my wardrobe part of your job description?” 

“Do not take Father’s name in vain,” Furiad reprimanded him. 

“You’re worse than Michael!” Alex called back, over the sound of running water. 

The Higher Angel sighed. “I find that hard to believe,” he said to himself.

* * * * *

Later, when Alex finally got out of the bathroom (he’d soaked himself into a prune and had nearly fallen asleep in the tub), he found three separate outfits carefully laid out on the bed. He could hardly contain his amusement as he stood at the foot of the bed, hands on his hips and wearing nothing but a white towel. Furiad was just full of surprises. The angel himself was nowhere to be seen.

What did catch Alex’s eye was a bright green apple placed on top of one of the bedside tables. The one on _his_ side of the bed, to be precise. (Alex always slept on the left, while Michael preferred the right.) It was the only sign that Michael had been in the room. Alex smiled as he walked over and picked up the apple. He bit into it as he decided what to wear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never fear, Gabriel's blood spell has not been forgotten. Given the condensed timeline in this part of the story, it's been less than twenty-four hours since Gabriel cast the spell.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not fond of writing OCs, which is a little hypocritical to say given that there are two major OCs in this fic and I've grown attached to both of them. But as the world of this story expands, I have to keep populating it. This chapter introduces some of the New Delphi guild masters. Since visual inspiration is important to me, I like to do mental casting.
> 
> If you want to play the mental casting game with me, here's what I have so far:  
> Marcus - Sam Worthington  
> Eva - ?  
> Lucas - ?  
> Asmodeus - Possibly Marton Csokas, but am open to suggestions  
> And poor Govad hasn't been cast either.
> 
> Lemme know whom you see as these characters in a comment or drop me a line on Tumblr (morrow-dim.tumblr.com).

Alex felt uncharacteristically nervous as he made his way to the lobby of Ithuriel’s guild house. It was strange being the guest of honor instead of a fly on the wall. Given the choice, he’d take guard duty over dinner conversation. Speaking of guards, Furiad and Noma were the first people he encountered. He was pleased to note that they were standing close together – probably a little too close together – as they spoke. When Noma looked up and saw him, she immediately gave him a bright smile and a wave as she walked towards him. 

“Nomes,” he greeted her, as she all but crushed him in a bear hug. He hadn’t seen her since they’d arrived at New Delphi that morning, making him wonder how she’d spent her day. “You look fantastic,” he added, when they broke apart. 

Noma’s smile turned a little embarrassed. “You think so?” she asked, a little uncertainly as she smoothed down her gown. “I can’t remember the last time I wore a dress.” 

Alex’s brow furrowed as he thought about it. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress,” he admitted. “But that is _some_ dress.” 

It really was. An ivory colored, one-shoulder column gown with an elegant embellished silver clasp on the right shoulder and a rather revealing slit along the left leg. It seemed to shimmer against Noma’s skin. He was beginning to think that Michael’s assessment of the formality of the dinner and Raphael’s distaste for ceremony might be off the mark. That gown looked plenty formal to him. 

“Raphael sent it over,” Noma explained. “I’m pretty sure it’s one of hers.” 

“She’s got good taste.” 

“She’s an Archangel.” 

“Your point?” 

Noma groaned as if to say, _Ugh, silly human_.

Furiad turned up at that moment. 

“Well, aren’t you two the cute couple,” Alex couldn’t help but tease, earning a glare from his de facto bodyguard. 

“Furiad cleans up rather nicely,” Noma said approvingly, smoothing down the silk shirt that Furiad was wearing. (Alex noticed how she didn’t dispute his comment about being a ‘couple.’) 

Furiad must’ve had a thing for red. Alex still remembered the Higher Angel’s impressive red armor from the first time Furiad had fought Michael in Vega. Tonight he was wearing red again and Alex could hardly blame him. The color went well with his eyes. 

“He’s an angel of many talents,” Alex agreed. “Including a fashion sense, apparently. Thanks for this,” he added, gesturing at the outfit he was wearing. 

Furiad nodded in acknowledgement of his compliment. 

While nowhere near as formal as the black-tie events in Vega, Alex had chosen the black dress pants (so well tailored that they seemed made for him) and a midnight blue cashmere V-neck sweater that seemed to pour like liquid onto his skin. He’d never worn clothes so fine or so luxurious before. They highlighted the importance of the evening and instead of putting him at ease, they made him slightly anxious. 

“Where’s Michael?” 

As if in answer to Alex’s question, the double doors to Ithuriel’s study opened and the Archangel stepped out with Ithuriel behind him. Alex had to rein in the mass of conflicting emotions that the sight of the two angels provoked in him. Michael walked ahead with Ithuriel on his left, perhaps one or two steps behind. (Alex wondered if that was Ithuriel’s usual position. It seemed to be.) Both angels exuded power and confidence, but there was deference in Ithuriel’s manner that left no doubt whom was in charge. 

As for Michael . . . well, the Archangel looked stunning. He wore his customary black, but like Alex’s dress pants, the clothes seemed tailor made for him – the narrow sweeping coat, the dress pants and the silk shirt. Beside him, Ithuriel wore all white. _The proverbial night and day_ , Alex couldn’t help but think. 

“Following the dress code?” Alex queried with a sardonic smile when the Archangel reached their little group. “That, more than anything else, makes me nervous.” 

“Are you ready?” Michael asked him calmly. 

“Probably not,” Alex admitted. “But let’s get this over with.” 

The group left the guild house together with Furiad and Noma walking in front while Michael, Alex and Ithuriel brought up the rear. Since Ithuriel and Raphael’s districts were side-by-side, it was a short walk to the House of Pythia and the evening air was brisk in New Delphi’s mountain fortress.

In the darkness of the evening, Alex caved and slipped his right hand into Michael’s. He felt the Archangel start at the unexpected action, and was relieved when Michael didn’t pull away. Instead, Michael’s long fingers closed around his own and he gave Alex’s hand a reassuring squeeze. On Alex’s left, Ithuriel had begun to speak to him. The guild master was giving Alex a rundown of the guests. It was going to be a small dinner party, and aside from their group of five plus Raphael and Govad, four other Higher Angels had been invited. These four were also guild masters, and were the ones that Alex would have to convince to join his cause. The guilds still followed the structure of the angelic host, and if Alex could convince a guild master, then all the angels under his or her command would fall in line. 

More than ever Alex understood Noma’s sentiments when they had both been Gabriel’s prisoners. Now that the gates of Heaven were closed, angels simply didn’t know what to do with their newfound freedom or free will. The concepts were alien to them. They still craved the structure and order of Heaven. It was the only world they knew. Alex also wondered what the residents of New Delphi would think if they knew that six of their ten guild masters were Higher Angels and that the ‘Lady of the City’ was an Archangel in hiding. 

“The first of the guild masters,” Ithuriel was saying, “and probably the easiest one to sway since he has close ties to Michael and myself, is Marcus . . .”

* * * * *

“ . . . Master of Weapons,” Marcus supplied with a flourish and a bow. The angel had close-cropped brown hair and a mischievous smile. He was rough around the edges and wore an awful lot of leather for a dinner party. It finally looked like Alex had found someone that cared even less about the dress code than Michael.

“What sort of weapons?” Alex asked him, good-naturedly. He was getting a good vibe from Marcus. 

“Whatever you need,” Marcus replied. “Basically, my guild supplies Ithuriel’s assassins with the tools of their trade.” 

“I can see how that would work,” Alex said. 

He was standing next to Ithuriel, whose job it was to introduce Alex to the other guests in the drawing room while they waited for dinner to be served. Every once in a while Alex would surreptitiously look over at Michael who was engaged in a deep conversation with his sister. The two archangels were standing in a corner of the drawing room, and everything about their body language told everyone else to stay away.

“So,” Marcus continued, giving Alex an once-over. “You look like you served in the military. Us military types can sniff each other out.” 

Alex had to admit that Marcus also looked one hundred percent military to him. He could’ve been one of the lieutenants or captains barking orders for the Archangel Corps. 

“Where’d you serve?” 

“The Archangels Corps in Vega.” 

Marcus gave Ithuriel a knowing look. “Ah,” he said. “You’ve had Michael whipping you into shape. Both literally and figuratively, I imagine.” 

“Does Michael use whips in Heaven too?” Alex asked, only half-jokingly. 

Marcus leaned in conspiratorially. “Michael has a thing for whips,” he said in a low voice underpinned with amusement. 

Alex didn’t have time to process the implications of that statement because their group was interrupted by an accusing voice. 

“Marcus, you can’t monopolize him.” 

“I’m doing nothing of the sort,” Marcus replied in mock offense, but he stepped away and made room for the newcomer, a dark eyed and dark haired beauty. 

“This is Eva,” Ithuriel said, introducing their new companion. 

“Master of the Arts,” Eva finished for him, curtseying in front of Alex as she bowed her head. Eva’s gown was a very pale pink, almost transparent if it wasn’t for the layers of chiffon that billowed against her legs. She looked like a nymph that had walked straight out of the woods with her alabaster skin, raven hair, and sandaled feet. 

“Alex Lannon,” Alex said, holding out his hand. 

“The Chosen One,” Eva said, grasping his hand as she straightened up. 

Instead of shaking her hand as Eva probably expected, Alex spontaneously leaned down and kissed the back of it. 

“Charming too,” Eva mused, dark eyes glinting with delight. 

Alex smiled at her. Eva was slight of build, but he could feel the strength in her grip. There was steel beneath her waif-like veneer. 

“What does the Master of Arts do?” he asked her. 

“I am the keeper of art and culture in New Delphi,” Eva answered. “The human race is endlessly creative, wouldn’t you say?” 

“I don’t really have much of an appreciation for art or culture,” Alex admitted. 

“Perhaps you should develop one,” Eva suggested. “When this war is over and you have led us to victory, you will be an enormous part of human art and culture.” 

Alex was taken aback by the boldness in Eva’s statement, in the confidence of her proclamation and he hazarded a look at Ithuriel. The Higher Angel’s look was reassuring, something around his eyes that reminded Alex so much of Michael that it was almost painful. 

“Don’t be fooled by Eva and her aesthetics,” Ithuriel teased, echoing a similar sentiment Michael had told Alex earlier. “Her artists are also deadly assassins if needs be.” 

Eva laughed and her smile sliced a little sharper. “Art can be a cutthroat business,” she told Alex. Then she glanced around the room. “Have you met Lucas yet?” she asked, waving another angel over. 

“No,” Alex replied, watching as a fair-haired angel took his leave of Furiad and Noma with whom he’d been conversing and walked towards them. The angel, however, that Alex was more interested in was the one who was by himself, standing by one of the windows of the drawing room and sipping a glass of bourbon. 

“Who is that?” he asked Ithuriel, gesturing to the reclusive angel. 

“Asmodeus,” Ithuriel replied, a distinct note of disdain in his voice. 

“He’ll be the most difficult to persuade,” Eva added. “Very rebellious. Raphael’s had problems with him before.” 

“And I’m much better company,” the fair-haired angel interrupted, reminding Alex that everyone in the room had superior senses. Superior everything, really. Sometimes it was tough being the only human in a room full of supernatural beings. The newcomer extended his hand when he stood in front of Alex. “Lucas,” he introduced himself. 

“The Master Architect,” Alex supplied, remembering Ithuriel’s background info as he shook Lucas’s hand. 

“Architects, designers, engineers,” Lucas added. “My guild built New Delphi.” 

“Oh, let’s not brag or anything,” Eva teased him, slinging an arm about his shoulder and kissing his cheek. Alex was starting to think that the two of them might be an item. 

“It’s an impressive city,” Alex praised. “Fortified on every level.” 

“Fortified for a ground assault,” Lucas corrected. “We’ll have to rethink our defenses now that so many higher angels have joined Gabriel’s cause.” 

“Is Gabriel planning to attack the city?” Eva questioned. 

“Michael and Raphael seem to think it’s a possibility,” Lucas said, dropping his voice slightly. “I met with them today. They want to be prepared.” 

“Precautions are wise,” Ithuriel agreed. 

Alex sensed – before he saw – Michael approach. The group he was with sensed it as well since they seemed to move as one body, stepping away from Alex and giving him more space within their circle; all except Ithuriel, who remained by Alex’s side. 

“General,” Eva greeted Michael, her curtsey lower and more elegant than the somewhat playful one she had performed for Alex. Marcus and Lucas also bowed respectfully. 

“Eva,” Michael replied with a slight nod. 

“General,” Eva said again. “Might I ask . . . would it be possible . . .” she hesitated, glancing quickly at Alex before looking at Michael again. “Would it be possible,” she repeated. “To see Father’s markings?” 

Michael’s piercing gaze shifted to Alex, a question in his look. 

Alex shrugged. “Show and tell, right?” he answered. 

Michael crossed the group’s little circle to where Alex was standing in the center of the drawing room, the other angels instinctively moving away to give the two of them more privacy. 

“This shirtless thing is getting old,” Alex muttered when he and Michael were relatively alone. 

Eva had settled on the sofa, her body angled towards Alex while Marcus and Lucas remained standing beside her. Raphael had also drawn near with Govad by her side. Furiad and Noma stood some distance away, at the opposite end. Only Asmodeus remained by the drawing room window still sipping his bourbon, seemingly disinterested in the goings-on. 

“And yet you are quite ready to strip in public,” Michael replied. 

Alex glanced up at the Archangel, his hands on the hem of his cashmere sweater with his back to his audience. Michael was standing in front of him. Alex had been about to pull off the sweater, but Michael’s words and his tone gave Alex pause. 

“Flirting? In public? I like.” 

“You would do well to remember that everyone in this room possesses extra keen senses.” 

“No flirting in public,” Alex revised. “Got it.” 

He was still half-smiling when he pulled the sweater over his head and handed it to Michael. If he had to do show and tell, then Michael would be his clothes rack, Alex reasoned. With a deep breath he slowly turned around, arms lifted so that the tattoos adorning his body would be clearly seen. 

Everyone remained at their places, although they were looking at the tattoos in a silent kind of awe and rapture. It was so different from the way he had been gazed upon at Gabriel’s eyrie. Gabriel had been covetous of the tattoos, only allowing Uriel and himself to examine them. Here, Alex felt the reverence in the room and unlike Gabriel’s objectification, which had always made him uncomfortable laced as it had been with sexual innuendo, the angels gazing upon the tattoos didn’t make him feel self-conscious. He’d underestimated the significance of the tattoos. What had Eva called them? Father’s markings. 

On a cerebral level Alex understood what the tattoos meant – Michael had drilled that into him often enough. They were a key, a map to be unlocked that would either lead to the destruction of mankind or its salvation. But they were also more than that. To the angels in this room, they were the final message from their _Father_. The human race may have been God’s children too, but they didn’t know Him the way His angels – the Firstborn – did. To humanity God had been an omnipotent, omnipresent being. Faith was something one had, not something one felt or touched. The very definition of the ‘divine’ meant that God was beyond mortal grasp or mortal understanding. But these angels had lived with their Father, had been in His presence, had drawn strength from His light. Alex could see the longing in their eyes, most especially in Eva, who sat and gazed at the celestial markings in an almost worship manner, her dark eyes brimming with hope. She gave him a small, encouraging smile.

These angels believed in him, Alex realized. They believed that the tattoos were meant for them as much as they were meant for humanity. Then again, Gabriel and Uriel believed that too. 

It was only Raphael who stepped forward. Like that night in Gabriel’s eyrie, he felt her power emanating from her like a physical force as though she too were drawn to the tattoos. She stopped in front of him, blocking him from the others in the room. Alex lowered his arms, letting them rest against his sides as he waited to see what she would do. But Raphael didn’t touch him, merely examining the tattoos on his chest more closely with her gaze. When she was done, her look fell on Michael and much like the Archangel Alex knew so well, he couldn’t read what he saw in her eyes. She smiled at her brother before she turned around and addressed the room.

“Dinner is ready,” she told the others. 

Her announcement spurred everyone into action and the party began to move into the next room, the sound of quiet conversation picking up again. Relieved that show and tell was over, Alex turned back to Michael and the Archangel returned his sweater, now neatly folded. Alex inwardly smiled. Michael could be such a neat freak. Fastidious is the term the Archangel would’ve used. 

As soon as Alex had slipped the sweater back on, a voice addressed him. 

“We have not yet met.” 

Alex knew who it was since there was only one person in the room he hadn’t met. “Asmodeus,” he replied, as he turned around, his hand already extended. 

“At your service,” Asmodeus said, shaking Alex’s hand in turn.

Alex plastered a smile on his face but it was a fake one, just as fake as the insincerity he thought he detected in Asmodeus’s tone. 

“Asmodeus,” Michael said, the authority in his voice immediately wiping the faint smirk off the other angel’s face. “You served with Metatron, did you not?” 

“Yes, General,” Asmodeus answered, his tone now all deference and respect. 

_It was fear_ , Alex thought. Asmodeus was afraid of Michael. Perhaps all the angels were to a certain extent. 

“What was your cohort?” 

“Surveillance and intelligence gathering.” 

“You were a spy.” 

Asmodeus looked uncomfortable but he bowed his head. “Yes, General.” 

“Then you have spent a great deal of time among humans, even before the Extermination War.” 

“I have spent my fair share.” 

“And would you say that you possess an insight into their behavior?” 

“I have grown accustomed to their ways.” 

Michael’s gaze was calculating and Asmodeus was trying very hard not to flinch. “We shall see you in the dining room,” he told the Higher Angel as a means of dismissing him. 

“Of course, General,” Asmodeus replied with a bow. 

Alex waited until Asmodeus had left the room before he asked, “What was that about?” 

“Perhaps nothing,” Michael answered. The Archangel was being evasive and Alex was about to press the topic when Michael continued. “You did well.” 

Alex glanced at Michael, taken aback by the praise. “I did?” 

“They like you.” 

“Except Asmodeus.” 

“Leave Asmodeus to Raphael.” 

“I thought you said you two weren’t going to force anybody.” 

“My sister can be very . . . persuasive.” 

“Like Gabriel persuasive?” 

“Not quite.” 

“That’s a relief.” 

The glint in Michael’s eyes seemed to suggest that while his brother and sister had different methods of persuasion, one method may not necessarily be ‘better’ than the other. For them, it was a question of efficacy. The Archangels were used to getting results. Alex let the topic go, the glint in his eyes shifting to something more playful. After all, they weren’t in ‘public’ anymore. 

“So, am I going to get a reward later for a job well done?” 

“The job isn’t over yet.” 

“Dinner wouldn’t be so tedious if I knew there’d be something to look forward to afterwards.” 

“Incorrigible.” 

Alex grinned at Michael’s use of the familiar sentiment. After months of not hearing it from the Archangel, it genuinely sounded like an endearment. Perhaps it had always been one. He was about to say as much when Michael pulled him in for one of those ambush kisses that had Alex wrapping his arms about the Archangel, pressing his body as close to Michael as possible. 

“You’re a lot more affectionate than you were before,” Alex observed when the kiss ended, keeping Michael close to him. “It’s nice.” 

“I missed you,” Michael replied, one hand coming to settle against the back of Alex’s neck. “And I regret the way in which we parted. I’m sorry, Alex, for hurting you and for betraying your trust.” 

Alex exhaled loudly, leaning forward to kiss Michael again. He hoped Michael understood everything he was trying to convey in that kiss: that he was sorry too, that he’d forgiven the Archangel months ago, that they should put the incident behind them, and that he’d never allow himself to be parted from Michael again. 

“Fuck Michael,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against the Archangel’s. “Let’s just skip dinner.” 

But Michael was already disentangling himself from Alex’s embrace, a rueful smile on his face. “Professionalism, Alex,” he lightly chastised. “The others are waiting for us.” 

Alex sighed, straightening his sweater again as he eyed the Archangel. “Fine,” he said, a little petulantly. “But you better fuck me through the mattress later,” he added, reverting to the filthy language he knew turned the Archangel on. 

Alex didn’t miss the brief flare of desire in Michael’s eyes before the Archangel slipped his hand into Alex’s. 

“Indeed,” he said, as he led them out of the room.


	11. Chapter 11

Alex had expected the dining table to be a long table, similar to the tables used during Vega’s state dinners, where General Reisen sat at one end and his daughter at the other, the guests arranged between them in varying degrees of importance. The closer one sat to either the General or Claire, the more important one’s standing in Vega. Michael had inevitably always sat on the General’s right, with Senator Thorn, the Second Consul of the city beside him, while David Whele, the First Consul had sat on the General’s left. 

Perhaps Michael’s assessment of the formality of the evening was right after all, for instead of a long table where Michael and Raphael sat on either end (Alex had expected to be on Michael’s right and Ithuriel on the Archangel’s left – or vice versa), they were greeted by the sight of a round table without name plates so that anyone could choose to sit where they wished. Unfortunately, since they were the last to enter it also meant that there were only two places left. Raphael had obviously reserved one of the seats beside her for Michael, which is where the Archangel sat, while Alex took the vacant seat on Michael’s left. Alex’s other conversation partner for the evening was not Ithuriel (another surprise) but Marcus. To Marcus’s left was Ithuriel followed by Eva and Lucas, Noma and Furiad, Asmodeus and then Govad, who sat on the other side of Raphael. The first course was served as soon as Michael and Alex sat down. 

Alex supposed that as far as dinner parties went – and judging by his _extensive_ experience – the evening wasn’t turning out so poorly after all. Marcus was excellent company and Alex discovered that the Higher Angel had also served under Michael’s command for millennia, which is why he knew Ithuriel so well. In fact, Marcus’s roguish personality and sense of humor reminded Alex at times of Ethan. He thought the two of them would get along great, except for the fact that Ethan hated angels of all kinds with the exception of Michael. What would Ethan say if he found out that Noma had been a Higher Angel all along? Alex put away any thoughts of the good friend he’d left behind. There was a good chance that he’d see Ethan again. He’d have to return to Vega at some point. In the meantime, Ethan knew how to take care of himself. Like Alex, he was a survivor and a good soldier. He would serve Claire’s government faithfully. 

Although he didn’t speak much with Michael, he was constantly aware of the Archangel’s presence, especially through his discreet brushes of Michael’s leg under the table. Michael gave him a warning look once or twice, but that only spurred Alex on to a more aggressive game of footsy as Michael tried to rein in his exasperation. It got so bad that Michael eventually dropped his left hand under the table and placed it on Alex’s leg to still his actions. He left it there for some time, a warm and comforting presence, and Alex relented. 

Alex wasn’t sure how the recruitment process was supposed to go since everyone seemed to be making a concerted effort to avoid talking about Gabriel or the War or the fact that Alex had been Gabriel’s prisoner for nearly three months. In the group Alex was caught up in – Marcus, Ithuriel, Eva, and to a lesser extent, Lucas – conversation was light, mostly about the goings-on in New Delphi. Alex didn’t mind since it was a way for him to learn more about the city, and the angels were very entertaining. On his right, conversation seemed far more serious. Michael and Raphael had slipped into the angelic tongue and Govad had joined them. Alex had never heard Michael speak in his language so fluently and for such an extended period of time. It made Michael seem even more alien to him than the fact that the Archangel had wings. He discreetly stole glances at Asmodeus from time to time (the angel made him uneasy) and similar to the drawing room, Asmodeus kept to himself. He appeared to be listening intently to what Govad was telling Michael and Raphael, though he took no part in the conversation. Occasionally, Noma would try to draw him into conversation but Asmodeus wasn’t receptive and she eventually gave up, content with Furiad and Lucas’s company. Alex was most pleased for Noma. She was at ease, happy and looked positively radiant. He only understood now how lonely she must’ve been in a city full of humans who hated and feared her kind. She could’ve also sought refuge in New Delphi and joined one of the guilds, but Michael had ordered her to watch over him, and so she had. She was the best and most loyal friend Alex could’ve hoped for. 

It was towards the end of the dinner as they were eating desert that the only bit of tension arose. Unsurprisingly, Asmodeus was the source. 

“What I don’t understand,” the Higher Angel was saying, “is what the Chosen One was doing with Gabriel.” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Noma said in return. “Gabriel wants to decipher the tattoos. He believes that with Alex at his side, he will win the War.” 

“But he’s right,” Asmodeus stated, so matter-of-factly that a silence fell over the entire table. “Whoever has the Chosen One by his side _will_ win this war. What I wish to know is what progress Gabriel made with the tattoos.” 

“None.” 

It was Furiad who answered. 

“Gabriel could not unlock the tattoos,” Furiad continued. “He had ample time with the Chosen One, but the tattoos remained silent. He is not meant to unlock them.” 

“And why should we trust what _you_ have to say?” Asmodeus questioned, turning to Furiad on his right. “You’re one of Gabriel’s lieutenants, one of the first to join his cause. You could still be spying for him.” 

The accusation was cutting and Alex was about to jump to Furiad’s defense but Michael beat him to it. 

“Furiad has proven his loyalty to me,” Michael said. “That is enough.” 

Asmodeus looked like he was about to object, but then thought better of it. 

“It’s true,” Noma spoke up. “Gabriel didn’t know what to do with Alex in the eyrie, and he grew more frustrated with each passing day. He isn’t meant to be Alex’s guide.” 

“The tattoos were silent in the eyrie,” Alex confirmed. “They refused to speak to me. In fact, the only two times they revealed themselves had to do with Michael.” 

At this confession, Michael looked at him and Alex realized that he hadn’t told Michael this, and that there was another very important detail about the tattoos that he’d also forgotten to tell the Archangel. But the tattoos felt so _normal_ and there was no trace whatsoever of the paint Gabriel had used. Still, Michael had to know about the spell. Alex would tell him when they were alone. 

“After months of silence,” Alex went on. “And after Gabriel tested one of his . . . theories, the tattoos finally shifted. They told me that Michael was coming and that gave me hope at a time when I had none. Later, when I was Furiad, they moved again. That was the night Michael and Raphael visited the eyrie. The tattoos told me Michael was there, and they were right. If being with Gabriel has taught me anything at all, it’s that Michael is my rightful guide.” 

Alex’s explanation was met with silence, until Marcus broke it with his levity. 

“Well, that’s good enough for me,” the Master of Weapons declared. He looked right at Michael. “Sign me up, General. We have a war to win.” 

“Sign me up as well,” Eva said. “It’s been far too long since I’ve been out in the field. I miss the sound of my blade singing in battle.” She tapped her partner, Lucas, who immediately straightened up in his seat. 

“Yeah, me too,” Lucas agreed. “But I would prefer to serve under Raphael. No offense, General,” he added. “It’s just that the defenses of New Delphi are my priority. This city . . . it’s become important to me.” 

“Understandable,” Michael replied. “But tonight is not the time to discuss those matters,” he continued. “Alex, Raphael and I appreciate your service. There is much to be done.” He glanced at his sister before saying, “New Delphi will formalize an alliance with Vega in the coming weeks. Gabriel has underestimated the resiliency of the human race before, and he will do so again.” 

“You’re asking us to fight side-by-side with humans?” Asmodeus interrupted. 

Michael looked at him. “Yes,” he said, his gaze piercing. “Whatever Father’s plans for our two species, the extermination of the human race was not a part of it.” 

“Do you really believe that?” 

“It is what I have _always_ believed.” 

“What if the tattoos reveal otherwise?” 

Alex glanced at Michael. Asmodeus’s rebellious attitude was creating a palpable tension in the room. 

“Only time will tell what the tattoos will reveal,” Michael answered evenly. The Archangel cast his gaze around the table. “What I am asking for is faith. Faith in Father’s markings, in his final message to us; faith in the vessel that Father has chosen to deliver His message; faith that we are doing Father’s will, as we have always done. Faith is not something that is earned. It is what we give freely, what defines us as the Firstborn. Too many of our kind have lost their faith.” Michael paused, allowing his words to settle before he continued. “I am Father’s Sword and Raphael is the Sage. We fight against our own siblings, the Heart and the Artist. Gabriel’s forces are formidable, and we all familiar with Uriel’s wrath. There will be no easy path to victory, but you must believe.” 

“We do, General,” Eva immediately responded. “We do believe.”

* * * * *

The dinner party soon disbanded after Michael’s address. Asmodeus was the first leave, not bothering to stay for the nightcap in the drawing room. Eva and Lucas left a little while after, with Eva spontaneously hugging Alex as though they’d been friends for years and hadn’t just met that night. Furiad and Noma hung around, no doubt waiting for Michael and Alex, while Marcus played a card game with Ithuriel in a corner of the room. (It seemed to be a regular thing for them.) Govad was sitting with Alex on the sofa in the center of the room, sipping brandy and making small talk. Govad could’ve retired himself (his room was upstairs), but he stayed out of politeness to the guests.

Michael and Raphael were standing by one of the windows in the drawing room; the same window that Asmodeus had kept vigil by before dinner, and it was not a coincidence that he was the subject of the two Archangels’ discussion. 

“What do you think?” Raphael asked her brother. 

“Unpredictable,” Michael answered. “Metatron has always been close to Gabriel. They share similar views.” 

“Views that you think Asmodeus also holds?” 

“Perhaps,” Michael said. He looked thoughtful. “Asmodeus’s strength lies in guile and deception.” 

“Traits that Gabriel values.” 

“But he has been on earth for a long time, long before the Extermination War.” 

“You think he’s adopted human ways. But then, wouldn’t that make him _our_ ally?” 

“Asmodeus could go either way,” Michael said. “His attitude towards humans seems to imply that he enjoys using them for his own ends and purposes, but that to fight side-by-side with them is somehow offensive. He deems them beneath us.” 

“Many of our kind see humans in that way,” Raphael reminded him. “And I can’t blame them. I, too, believe in our superiority. The humans that Gabriel tolerates he thinks of as pets to be domesticated and bent to his will. You don’t think of Alex as your pet?” 

“Of course not,” Michael said sharply, looking at his sister with reproach. 

“I meant no offense,” Raphael said gently, putting a placating hand on his arm. 

“You must have some compassion for them, Raphael,” Michael said, accepting his sister’s apology. “Otherwise you would not rule this city, nor care so much for the safety of its inhabitants – human and angelic alike.”

Raphael sighed. “Compassion or no,” she said. “That does not tell us what to do about Asmodeus. I have had difficulty with him in the past. His district can be troublesome.” 

“Keep a close eye on him,” Michael instructed. “Until his motivations are known.” 

“Very well.” Raphael paused, her gaze sweeping about the drawing room until it landed on Alex. She’d felt the boy watching them intently since they’d moved to the drawing room. “Brother,” she said, her voice turning playful. “You need to take your human to bed. And yes, Alex may not be your pet but he is _your_ human,” she emphasized before Michael could object. “He’s been devouring you with his eyes since we entered this room. And his pheromones are becoming distracting.” 

Michael shook his head, but he did not deny the observation. “He is very young,” he said instead. 

“Youth makes him easier to train, easier to mold.” 

“That was my mistake before,” Michael countered. “Alex must find his own path. There is only so much I can do.” 

“Then he will.” Raphael arched a brow, her hand still on Michael’s arm. “I have faith.” 

Michael’s smile was warm. “Good night, sister.” 

“Good night, Michael.”

* * * * *

On the way back to Ithuriel’s guild house Furiad, Noma, Alex and Michael followed the same pattern as before with the two Higher Angels walking in front while Michael and Alex trailed a little farther behind them. Ithuriel had stayed behind since his card game with Marcus was reaching high stakes, especially once Govad had decided to join them.

This time Alex didn’t reach for Michael’s hand, content to walk beside him. That, and any physical contact with Michael before they were in the privacy of their bedroom probably wasn’t a good idea. 

“So,” Alex said, gesturing at the pair ahead of them. “Are you going to spy on them?” 

“Spy?” Michael sounded miffed. 

“The whole life debt,” Alex clarified. “Aren’t you in Furiad’s head all the time, even if he and Noma . . .” 

Michael could feel his charge smirking in the darkness. “I am not intrusive,” he said sternly. “And I had thought I would be otherwise occupied.” 

“Well, that’s true,” Alex agreed, picking up the pace. 

Beside him, Michael smiled. 

The group parted ways in the lobby of the guild house. Although Alex was interested to see if Furiad would enter Noma’s room or vice versa, he was much more interested in getting Michael to bed, so he said a hasty good night and practically dragged the Archangel up the stairs. 

Michael didn’t even bother to contain his amusement when the bedroom door was finally locked behind them and Alex immediately began to strip. 

“Eager,” he noted, sedately removing his coat. 

“You’ve kept me waiting all night,” Alex shot back. 

“It was my sister who suggested that I ‘take you to bed,’” Michael informed him calmly. “She said your pheromones were becoming distracting.” 

Alex, who had been about to strip his pants and briefs, stopped abruptly. “My pheromones?” he repeated somewhat shocked. “What? You’re saying that she could _smell_ that I was horny?” 

“I presume everyone in the room could.” 

“Oh my God!” Alex exclaimed, not caring how much Michael hated the expression. He was mortified. “Shit, that’s just . . . so wrong!” 

“It cannot be helped.” 

Alex began to laugh. The situation had taken on a touch of the absurd to him. Angels and their freaky senses. “At least, I didn’t have that problem at the eyrie,” he joked. 

This time he was really about to pull down his pants when suddenly Michael was very near, moving with a speed and stealth that took him by surprise. Michael’s hand on his wrist stilled his actions and when Alex looked up, the gravity of the angel’s expression took all the humor out of Alex’s predicament. 

“In the eyrie,” Michael said slowly. “Did Gabriel –?” 

“No,” Alex said quickly, cutting Michael off. “No,” he said again, when Michael didn’t look convinced. Now he was wondering if angels could smell lies and fear too. Did all emotions have a corresponding biological response? 

“There was a lot of innuendo and a kiss,” Alex finally admitted. “And he came to me one night pretending to be you.” 

At this confession, Michael’s grip on Alex’s wrist tightened so painfully that Alex winced. Instantly, Michael eased his grip, his thumb gently rubbing along Alex’s quickening pulse to soothe the pain. 

“I thought it was a dream,” Alex said, the shame of that memory burning through him. “But no, he didn’t.” 

Alex could see the tension ease in Michael’s form and the Archangel cupped his cheek. 

“Gabriel will never hurt you again,” he said. “I will make sure of that.” 

Alex almost made a quip about making promises that Michael might not be able to keep, but Michael’s words filled him with warmth. “This protective side of yours?” he told the Archangel. “It’s very sexy.” 

Michael shook his head – a gesture that Alex translated to mean ‘incorrigible’ – a faint half-smile on his face. He looked like he was going to say something else, but Alex had had enough talk. The evening had been filled with talk. It was time for action. So he kissed the Archangel, his earlier impatience now replaced by a slow-burning desire after Michael’s declaration. Michael responded with his usual heat and intensity, hands roaming down Alex’s back until they reached Alex’s waist and gripped the unzipped pants and briefs. He broke their kiss to pull down the pants and briefs, Alex accommodating him by stepping out of the clothes. Then Alex’s hands were on Michael, undoing the buttons of the angel’s silk shirt while Michael unbuckled his belt. They were kissing again and this time they didn’t break apart as Alex slipped the shirt off Michael’s shoulders. Michael was walking him backwards to the bed and when Alex hit the bed with the back of his knees, he fell back onto it, scooting backwards to make room for Michael. The Archangel took the opportunity to slip off his own pants and briefs before joining Alex on the bed in a tangle of hands, limbs and kisses. Alex pulled the Archangel down to him, relishing the familiar weight and the familiar touch. His body responded to Michael in a way that it had never responded to anyone else before, and there was no doubt that the Archangel was a very skillful – and considerate – lover. 

Alex was reminded of Michael’s consideration as the Archangel reached for the drawer on the bedside table, no doubt for some lube. “No,” he said, pulling Michael’s hand back. “Your wings.”

Michael paused, supporting his weight on his arms as he contemplated the request. Alex knew there was no way the Archangel was going to refuse him tonight. He held his breath as Michael spread his wings, his wingspan dwarfing the queen-sized bed. He exhaled as he ran his hands up Michael’s sides, finally moving to the base of Michael’s wings. Alex still thought it was the hottest thing in the world to discover that angel wings produced their own lube. Michael had taught him where to find the glands at the base of his wings and how to secrete the oil. Of course, the oil was supposed to be used for other things, but it was great for sex as well. Alex liberally coated his hands with the oil and then he reached down taking both their cocks in his left hand, while he stretched himself with his right. 

“I should be the one preparing you,” Michael chided him softly, rocking into Alex’s hand. 

“You’ll be doing all the work soon enough,” Alex told him, continuing to fuck himself on his own fingers. If he’d left it to Michael the prep would’ve been longer (not to mention the foreplay) but his earlier impatience had returned. “Keep the wings out, yeah?” 

Michael chuckled softly. “You are bossy tonight,” he observed, before nipping down and taking one of Alex’s nipples in his mouth. 

Alex gasped, instinctively arching upwards. “Yeah, well,” he said a little breathlessly. “It’s all part of my reward.” 

The Archangel didn’t say anything but Alex could feel him smiling against his skin as he moved from one nipple to the other. By the time Michael was laving Alex’s other nipple with his tongue, Alex had had enough of the foreplay and the prep. He slipped his fingers out of his body, his right hand going back to the base of Michael’s wing to gather more oil. He felt the wing flutter under his touch, the strength and control Michael demonstrated with his wings never failing to amaze him. It was dangerous for Michael to keep his wings out when they were in bed, but Alex had complete faith that Michael wouldn’t hurt him. He reached down again, this time taking Michael’s cock in both his hands, stroking it, remembering its texture and the feel of its pulse. He spread his legs wider, guiding Michael’s cock to his entrance. Michael leaned down to kiss him, bracing himself on his hands. The first breach of his body had Alex moaning into Michael’s mouth. Michael withdrew and then pushed inside again. 

“You’re very tight,” he said. 

“Just the way you like it,” Alex returned. “C’mon,” he said, urging Michael on, fingers raking down the angel’s arms. 

Michael took the hint and continued to push inside, the passage giving way slowly. “Breathe, Alex,” Michael whispered in his ear, one arm wrapping around Alex’s waist for support, lifting him off the bed to provide a better angle of entry.

It was while Michael was sliding in that he noticed it, a faint red glow on Alex’s left arm. He watched as it spread and grew in brightness, outlining the tattoos etched on Alex’s skin. He’d never seen the tattoos behave that way before, and the Archangel sensed that something was wrong. 

“Alex, do you feel that?” Michael asked, managing to keep the alarm out of his voice. 

Alex had shut his eyes, his lips were half-parted, and there was a look of pure pleasure on his face. “Yeah, you feel amazing,” he breathed. “Don’t stop.” 

But Michael had already stilled his actions, his focus solely on the tattoos. “No, Alex,” he said. “I meant the tattoos. Do you feel the tattoos?” 

Abruptly, Alex opened his eyes. “I don't feel anything,” he said, Michael’s strange questions causing him concern. 

Michael reached for Alex’s left wrist. “You don’t feel that?” he questioned again, holding out Alex’s arm. “You don’t see anything?” 

Michael’s alarm was starting to bleed into Alex and he fought back his rising panic. “No,” he said. “What do you see?” 

“They’re glowing. In red.” 

“Fuck.” 

“What haven’t you told me?” the Archangel demanded. 

“Gabriel.”


	12. Chapter 12

_Furiad._

The summons was unmistakable, and powerful enough to rouse him from sleep. Furiad opened his eyes, taking a moment to gather his bearings. This was the first time he’d woken up in a bed that was not in the eyrie, and in a room filled with sunlight instead of the cold dampness of a stone wall. It was not the first time someone had been in bed with him, but it was the first time in a very long time that he truly cared about that someone. He looked to his left. Noma was still sound asleep with her back to him. It was only his second day in New Delphi, his second day of switching sides in this war and he was at peace with his decision. He supposed it had been a long time coming. He had seen how futile Gabriel’s attempts had been to unlock the tattoos, how Alex had steadfastly resisted him, and how very different Alex was now that he was with Michael again. Furiad had no doubt that the Chosen One would be able to read the tattoos once more, now that he’d been reunited with his true guide.

“Noma,” he said, planting a light kiss on her bare shoulder blade. 

Noma stirred but didn’t respond. 

“Noma,” he said again, a little louder. 

“What?” she finally said, her voice still heavy with sleep. 

“Michael needs us.” 

“How do you –” Noma began, but stopped abruptly. She sighed. “I forgot you have a direct line to him now.” She turned over just in time to see Furiad getting out of bed. “Look at you,” she said, stretching. “Always the good soldier.” 

Furiad had begun to dress. “Michael and Alex are at Raphael’s guild house,” he answered. “They are waiting for us there.” 

Noma sat up suddenly. “Is everything all right?” she asked. 

Furiad paused before putting on a loose, free-flowing shirt. “I do not think so,” he replied.

* * * * *

The world slowly came into focus for Alex. His head was throbbing. The first thing he saw was Noma’s concerned expression as she leaned over him.

“Hey,” she said. 

“Hey yourself,” he croaked back. 

Noma smiled slightly at his reaction. “How’re you feeling?” she asked. 

“Like I was hit by a truck.” 

“You don’t remember anything?” 

“Did I black out?” 

“More like Raphael knocked you out.” 

Alex grimaced. Yeah, that part was starting to come back to him. He turned his head. He was still in Raphael’s study, lying down on a leather sofa by the looks of it. He moved to sit up and Noma put a hand on his arm to steady him. 

“You sure you want to do that?” 

Alex ignored the question and sat up, resting his head in his hands. 

“Here,” Noma said, handing him a glass of water and a tablet as she sat down next to him. “For that headache.” 

Alex took the tablet and the water gratefully. He drank the whole glass before putting it down on the coffee table in front of him. “Thanks,” he said. He shut his eyes for a moment, but when he opened them again his immediate thought was, ‘Where’s Michael?’ He must’ve asked that question out loud because Furiad responded. 

“He was conferring with Raphael, but I’ve told him you’re awake. He is on his way.” 

Alex hadn’t seen Furiad standing behind the sofa and he gave the Higher Angel a puzzled look. He was about to ask “How?” given that Furiad hadn’t left the room, but Noma answered the unasked question with a sardonic smile. 

“He’s got a direct line to Michael now.” 

“The life debt?” Alex questioned, surprised. “I thought that was only one way.” 

“I cannot invade Michael’s thoughts or memories,” Furiad explained. “Unless he wishes to share them with me.” His tone indicated that scenario was highly unlikely. “But I can communicate with him if the need arises.” 

“Michael _summoned_ him this morning,” Noma told Alex. “Summoned us,” she revised. 

No sooner had Noma said this than the door to the study opened and the Archangel in question strode inside. Michael walked to the sofa, stopping at one end and appraising the situation. 

“It’s okay,” Alex told him. “I'm not going to attack you. I know who you are.” 

Michael nodded. “You remember that?” 

“Bits and pieces,” Alex replied. “It’s coming back.” 

Alex remembered talking with Michael and Raphael in the study much earlier that morning, before dawn had even broken. After the tattoos had started glowing, Michael had made Alex perform a series of meditative tasks that he hadn’t done before until the tattoos ‘settled down.’ Then Michael had contacted Raphael and brought Alex to her guild house. Alex had been explaining what Gabriel had done to him and the tattoos just before the escape from the eyrie when he’d suddenly lost it. He couldn’t explain it, but Gabriel had appeared in the room with them, sitting in the very spot that Michael had occupied only seconds before. 

Alex had stood up abruptly, knocking his seat over in the process as he’d automatically drawn his gun. It was an instinctive reaction, no matter how ridiculous since he knew that bullets couldn't kill an Archangel. 

“What are you doing here?” he’d demanded, the gun in point-blank range and directed at the Archangel. Even if bullets couldn’t kill Gabriel, maybe they’d hurt him or buy a little time. 

Gabriel’s look was smug, his body language completely at ease. 

“ _How_ did you get in here?” Alex had yelled, growing more agitated. 

It was Raphael who’d stood up in response, her hands outstretched in a placating gesture. “Alex,” she’d said, drawing his attention to her. “Who do you see?” 

“Who do I _see_?” Alex had barked at her. “Who the hell do you think I see? Gabriel! He’s right there!” 

Raphael had turned to look where Alex was pointing and she’d exchanged a silent communication with her brother. 

“Aren’t you going to do something?” Alex had demanded, addressing Raphael. 

“Yes,” the Archangel had replied, but she’d stepped towards Alex, not Gabriel. “Please put the gun down,” she’d said. “Gabriel is not here.” 

But Alex had been too far-gone. His head was starting to ache and pain was flaring along the left side of his body. “I’m telling you,” he’d said to Raphael. “Gabriel is here.” He was waving the gun a little manically. 

“Alex,” Raphael had said again, moving ever closer.

The next thing Alex knew, he’d lost consciousness. Now he ran his hand through his hair, his headache abating somewhat. He glanced at Michael. “Your sister’s got some Vulcan neck-pinch shit going on,” he told the Archangel. When he was met with blank looks from the three angels, he added, “ _Star Trek_? Classic twentieth-century sci-fi show? Movie franchise?” 

More blank looks. 

“Never mind,” Alex sighed.

Noma took that as her cue to stand up and make room for Michael. After receiving instructions from the Archangel, the two Higher Angels left the room. 

“We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” Alex said as Michael sat down beside him. 

“No more than usual.” 

Alex couldn’t help but smile at the Archangel’s deadpan response and he rested his head against the back of the sofa, looking at Michael fondly. “I can’t believe the people in Vega thought you didn’t have a sense of humor,” he said. 

“The people in Vega don’t really know me,” Michael answered, his voice warm but his expression serious. 

Alex’s smile grew a little wider. Michael didn’t go for big declarations (sometimes Alex wished he would), but the Archangel’s subtlety made Alex cherish the little things even more. He shifted closer to Michael, close enough so he could rest his head on the angel’s shoulder and place his hand on Michael’s thigh. After a moment, Michael lifted his arm and wrapped it around Alex allowing Alex to get more comfortable against his side. Alex inwardly smiled. Outright cuddling was rare for them too. 

“Early in my captivity,” Alex began in a quiet voice. “Gabriel suggested that you were using my love as a way to bind me to you; that you weren’t capable of returning it.” 

There was a pause before Michael asked, “Did you believe him?” 

“For a whole ten seconds.” 

“That long?” 

Michael sounded amused. Alex would’ve punched him except that he was too comfortable to move. “Hey, Gabriel’s got a silver tongue,” he said instead. Fingers were carding through his hair, making Alex melt into Michael a bit more. 

“Which is why you know better than to believe him,” Michael said softly. 

That was true. And yet . . . 

“There’s something else Gabriel said,” Alex continued. “He had this theory that the tattoos were attached to you somehow. Or rather, _I_ was attached to you and it was that connection that allowed me to access the tattoos. I denied it, of course, but . . .” 

“But you think there is some truth to the idea.”

Alex nodded. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the tattoos gave me the silent treatment in the eyrie when we were separated. The night that Gabriel visited me, pretending to be you? That was a social experiment of sorts.” He paused. “The tattoos were pissed. I don’t know how else to put it. It felt like my whole body was on fire, like Gabriel had violated the tattoos somehow.” He stopped, waiting for Michael’s reaction. When the Archangel didn’t say anything, Alex sat up and looked at him. “You think there’s something to this as well,” he said, unintentionally sounding accusing. 

Michael’s unflappable veneer didn’t waver. “It is possible,” the Archangel conceded. “Not just because you are close to me, but because I also once bore the tattoos on my body.” 

“So, what does that mean?” 

Michael’s expression turned thoughtful. “What you’ve just told me confirms something Raphael and I discussed,” he said. “We believe that the spell Gabriel attempted to cast on you is a binding spell, one that would break your ties with me and bind you to him. That way you would be able to access the tattoos with him without any form of coercion on his part.” 

That actually made a lot of sense to Alex, but since one of his defense mechanisms in the face of adversity was sarcasm he couldn’t help but tease, “You angels have love spells?” Unfortunately, Michael’s grim expression dampened his good humor. 

“Nothing so crude,” Michael replied. “Blood magic is potent, Alex. This is not to be taken lightly.”

The reprimand wiped the smirk off of Alex’s face. “Can you break the spell?” he asked seriously. “Reverse it? Or whatever it is you guys do with unwanted spells?” 

The look on Michael’s face was not encouraging. “Reversing the spell right now is impossible,” he said. “Since we do not know which spell Gabriel used.” He stopped, and if Alex hadn’t known the Archangel so well, he would’ve missed the slight hesitation. 

“There’s more, isn’t there?” Alex pressed. 

Michael nodded. “It is . . . unfortunate . . . that the spell is incomplete,” he revealed. “Some spells cannot be lifted, but incomplete spells are more dangerous. They have . . . side effects.” 

“Like my Gabriel hallucination earlier?” Alex offered. 

“Yes.” 

“What are the other side effects?” 

“They vary, and depend upon the type of spell.” 

“You’re really worried,” Alex suddenly said, the realization dawning on him. 

“I am concerned,” Michael admitted. 

“Don’t be,” Alex said, with a bravado that he didn’t really feel. “We’re going to beat this, because we always do. What’s the next step? Because you always have a next step,” he added. 

“We’re waiting for Eva,” Michael replied. “She’s an accomplished spell caster. Raphael has gone to see her to explain your situation.” 

“Spell casting?” Alex repeated with a smile. “Is that one of the angelic arts?” 

Michael’s expression softened. “It’s good that you keep your spirits up,” he said. 

“I have a ridiculous amount of faith in you,” Alex admitted, his hand resting again on Michael’s leg. “And there’s no way we’re letting Gabriel corrupt what we have.”

* * * * *

Alex was starved. He’d slept for hours after Raphael had Vulcan neck-pinched him and was now having a late breakfast in the guild house’s extensive kitchen. He was digging into blueberry pancakes (made with fresh blueberries, not the canned stuff), while Michael was slicing a pear. He was halfway through his third pancake when Eva walked in, this time wearing pale blue. She obviously liked pastel shades.

“Good morning, Chosen One!” she said brightly, taking the seat beside Alex. She smiled at Michael and said in a more sedate manner, “General.” 

“Eva,” Michael said in return. “It’s just Michael.” 

Eva’s smile brightened even more and Alex would swear that she was blushing. He wondered how young Eva was measured by the years of the angels. Sure, she’d probably lived thousands and thousands of human life spans, but maybe not hundreds of thousands of human lives? Her awe of Michael was quite apparent. 

“You seem . . . happy,” Alex commented. 

Eva shrugged. “Would you rather I be doom and gloom?” she asked. “It’s not really my thing. Besides, I’m here to help you.” She gestured to the stack of pancakes. “May I?” 

“Sure, go right ahead,” Alex said. 

Eva began helping herself, piling three pancakes on her plate and dousing them with blueberry syrup. 

“Did you skip breakfast too?” Alex asked her, amused. 

“I’m always hungry after a night of great –” Eva stopped abruptly and glanced at the two of them. 

“Well,” Alex said, returning his attention to his food and spearing a slice of pancake somewhat viciously. “At least someone got laid.” 

“Eva,” Michael smoothly continued. “Did you bring it with you?” 

“Yes, General. Michael,” Eva immediately corrected. 

“And what is ‘it’?” Alex inquired. 

“It” Eva explained, “is a mixture. A potion to determine how far Gabriel managed to get in painting the tattoos. It’ll help us determine how potent the spell is, although all blood magic is very strong, whether the spell is complete or not.” 

“And afterwards?” 

“That’s for the Archangels to decide.”

* * * * *

A little while later, Alex was back in Raphael’s study, shirtless and sitting on a stool while Eva painted his left arm with a thin, milky liquid.

“So, what’s in that stuff?” Alex asked to ease some of his anxiety. 

“Mostly goat’s milk,” Eva answered. 

“Mostly?” Alex repeated. “I don’t want to know what’s in the rest of it, do I?” 

Eva glanced at him and shook her head. Unlike Gabriel’s intricate tracery of the tattoos, Eva was using a wide brush and simply coating the white substance over Alex’s body. There was no burning this time, dull or otherwise, just the cool feeling of the liquid on his skin. The mixture seemed to dry as soon as it came into contact with his skin. When Eva began painting his chest, Alex spoke again. 

“Y’know, Gabriel was working on my back when Sammael attacked the eyrie,” he reminded the others. “He never got to the markings on my chest or my right arm.” 

“It’s best to be thorough,” Michael said. He and Raphael were standing in front of Alex while Eva continued her work. 

Alex kept silent as Eva finished the job. Soon she was standing with the Archangels and the three of them were watching the tattoos. Alex wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen and he gave the angels a ‘What now?’ look. But then he _felt_ what was supposed to happen as a tingling sensation began on his left arm at the precise spot where Gabriel had first started his ‘art project.’ Alex watched, fascinated, as the white milk recreated the exact path that Gabriel had taken not in red ink as he’d thought, but in a clear black ink that was a stark contrast to the natural blue ink of the tattoos. He could only see the change on his left arm, but he felt the spidery tendrils of the black ink map across his back. Gabriel had covered a lot more of his back than he remembered. The job was almost complete. On his right arm and his chest, the blue tattoos retained their vibrancy, heightened by the mixture that Eva had used. The three angels had walked around him to examine Gabriel’s handiwork on his back.

“Half complete,” Alex heard Raphael murmur. 

“Why aren’t they glowing in red?” Alex couldn’t help but ask. “Like last night?” 

“It’s fortunate that they’re _not_ glowing in red,” Michael told him, coming to stand in front of Alex again. “That would mean Gabriel is accessing the tattoos.” 

“Can he complete the spell?” Raphael asked. “Even if Alex is no longer with him?” 

“It’s extremely unlikely,” Eva spoke up. She hesitated. 

“But?” Raphael prodded. 

“But enough damage has been done,” Michael stated, finishing Eva’s line of thought. “A half-complete binding spell,” he said quietly, almost to himself. Then he looked up, his piercing gaze directed at Eva. “What are our options?” he asked her.

“I can think of two,” she said. “But neither of them are very good.” 

“Let’s hear them anyway,” Alex said, mentally steeling himself for the worst. 

“The first would be to complete the spell, and then reverse it,” Eva began. “Obviously, the problem with that is we don’t know which spell Gabriel used. Although I’m familiar with binding spells, I’m not well versed in blood magic. Blood magic veers towards the darker arts.” 

“What do you mean?” Alex asked, the whole magic stuff totally beyond his comfort zone. 

“Generally, binding spells aren’t harmful,” Eva explained. “They’re usually used to bind someone _from_ harm, similar to a protection spell. Unless they’re love spells, but those tend to do more harm than good.” 

“So, angels _do_ have love spells,” Alex commented, unable to stop himself from giving Michael a wry grin. Michael sighed and shook his head in response.

“But since this particular binding spell uses blood magic,” Eva continued. “That’s beyond my abilities. It’s Uriel who would know what to do.” 

“Uriel?” Alex said in surprise. 

“She taught me everything I know,” Eva said. “She _is_ the patron of the arts.” 

“You served Uriel before the Extermination War,” Alex said, making the connection.

“Yes,” Eva confirmed, briefly glancing at Raphael. She was aware of the falling out between the two sisters, and discussing Uriel around Raphael was always a touchy topic. “In fact,” she said quietly. “It wouldn’t surprise me if this blood spell was Uriel’s idea to begin with.” 

“Alex,” Michael said. “Do you remember anything of the texts that Gabriel was making you read before he cast the spell? It would give us some idea of where to start looking.” 

“Some,” Alex replied. “But they didn’t make any sense to me.” 

“Sit down with Eva and tell her what you remember,” Raphael suggested. “Every piece of information helps.”

“Revelations,” Alex said suddenly. “The very first scroll I read, on the day Gabriel first brought up the idea of magic, was from Revelations. Gabriel said that what Senator Thorn did to Louis was very ‘human,’ and that what he would do to me in turn would be very . . . ‘angelic.’” He gave Michael an apologetic look, knowing how much Becca Thorn’s betrayal had wounded the Archangel. The torture and cruelty that she’d inflicted on Louis still shocked Alex. “But Gabriel mentioned that it wasn’t any kind of Revelations I’d find in a bible.” 

“Apocryphal scripture,” Michael supplied, looking at his sister. 

Raphael nodded. “I have some of those in my library,” she said. “At least, that will narrow down the search.” 

“What was your other suggestion?” Michael asked, turning his attention to Eva once more. 

“A dampener,” Eva answered. “It’s sort of like a broad spectrum antibiotic to use human medical language. I don’t know how effective it’ll be in countering the effects of blood magic,” she admitted. “But I don’t think it’ll hurt to try either.” 

“What does a dampener do?” Alex asked. 

“It’s all in the name, really,” Eva replied. “It slows down the effects of a spell. Mutes it. I’m hoping in your case that it’ll minimize or at least delay some of the side effects.” 

“Do it,” Michael instructed. 

“All right,” Eva agreed. She paused. “There’s one more thing,” she said, and she was definitely blushing. “This spell was dormant until something triggered it last night.” She stopped, letting the implication of her statement hang in the air.

Alex sucked in a breath. “You’re saying that I can’t have sex,” he said bluntly. 

“No,” Michael corrected. “She’s saying that you can’t have sex with me.” 

“Like I’d want to have sex with anybody else,” Alex shot back, not caring that Raphael and Eva were present. 

“This is more than just about sex,” Michael said, understanding Eva’s line of reasoning. “Gabriel’s goal is to alienate you from me, and to bring you closer to him. It stands to reason that strong positive emotions related to me might trigger the spell.” 

“So, I have to keep my emotions in check,” Alex translated. 

“We’ll do more meditation later today,” Michael advised. 

“Fun,” Alex groaned.


	13. Chapter 13

Alex talked with Eva for some time describing to her what he could remember of the scrolls and texts that Gabriel had made him read while she took down notes. They had gone to her guild house so that she could also prepare the dampener. Unlike the previous mixture, the dampener was a potion that Alex had to drink. 

“Drink it quickly,” Eva advised him. “It’s a little bitter.” 

_It looked bitter_ , Alex thought, holding up the small glass containing a dark green liquid that looked an awful lot like a mossy kind of slime. It looked disgusting. He forced the liquid down in three large gulps, grimacing at the terrible taste and bizarre texture. 

“That is vile,” he told Eva, handing the glass back to her. 

“Yeah, it really is,” she agreed, her smile apologetic. “We’re done here. I’ll fill Raphael and Michael in on what you told me. It’ll help us narrow down the search. You never know, we might get lucky.”

“You’re one of those glass half-full people, aren’t you?” 

Eva laughed. “There aren’t enough of us around,” she said, squeezing his arm. “Furiad’s outside waiting for you,” she added. 

“Because I need an escort to walk the streets of New Delphi,” Alex commented dryly. 

“It’s safer, Alex,” Eva said, her radiant smile dimming a little as she looked at him with concern. 

“Yeah, I know,” Alex sighed. “Thanks for everything.” 

“I’ll keep working on the spell,” Eva said, nodding her head. “I’ll see you soon.”

In truth, Alex didn’t mind the escort so much especially since he _was_ getting used to Furiad’s company. The Higher Angel would never be loquacious, but the silences between them were comfortable now, companionable even. When Furiad wasn’t being his menacing warrior self, he actually had a very calming presence. Soothing. Steady. Dependable. Then there was the life debt. Alex was now wondering if Michael had calculated all this when he’d accepted the debt. Not only had Furiad managed to prove his loyalty to the Archangel, but from what Alex understood of the debt, Furiad was now Michael’s proxy. He was a way for Michael to keep an eye on Alex even if the Archangel couldn’t be physically present, and Alex found that comforting too. This time, however, it was Furiad who broke the companionable silence between them. 

“Are you feeling all right?” 

“What?” Alex replied, a little distractedly. 

“You look a little peaked.” 

Furiad’s expression remained typically impassive, but it was a testament to their evolving relationship that Alex could detect the undercurrent of concern in the angel’s voice. He stopped walking and looked at the angel. 

“I am feeling a little light-headed,” he admitted. “Forgot to ask Eva if the dampener has any side effects. Or, y’know, it could be the _other_ spell.”

“Eva would have told you something like that,” Furiad replied. 

“Then you think it’s the _other_ spell.” 

“Perhaps,” Furiad conceded. “Or you could just be tired. The past few days have been . . . eventful.” 

“You’re telling me,” Alex muttered, perfectly aware that Furiad would pick up every word. 

“Gabriel is very clever,” Furiad continued. “But Michael is the strategist. He will find a solution to this.” 

Alex shook his head, but it wasn’t in disagreement or disbelief. Rather, he was marveling at Furiad’s steadfastness and conviction. He was glad that the Higher Angel was on their side. 

“You’re right,” he said eventually. “Maybe I’m just a little tired. I’ll probably lie down for a bit when we get back to the guild house.” 

“Let us go,” Furiad said, resuming their walk. 

By the time they arrived at Ithuriel’s guild house, Alex was feeling noticeably poorer but he didn’t tell Furiad. He thought the Higher Angel could tell anyway, since he’d asked Alex that question earlier. Alex would call it fatigue, except he hadn’t done anything to exert himself. Yet his limbs felt heavy, like he was walking through water, and his mind was a little clouded. It was a strange kind of physical and mental lethargy.

“Gonna take a nap,” he told Furiad, leaning against the balustrade of the staircase in the lobby. 

“Michael is still in Raphael’s guild house,” Furiad answered. 

Alex nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Go report to him or whatever it is you do.” At Furiad’s slightly skeptical look, Alex added, “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be fine.”

They both knew that his last statement was questionable, but Furiad didn’t mention it. 

“Very well,” Furiad said instead to avoid a conflict. 

Alex suspected that the Higher Angel would ‘report’ to Michael using their newly formed link, but he was also feeling too tired to argue. He tapped Furiad on the shoulder and went upstairs, all but crawling under the covers of the bed he shared with Michael.

* * * * *

Alex felt refreshed and very alert when he awoke, a stark contrast to how poorly he’d been feeling when he went to bed. Except instead of seeing the cream ceiling of his bedroom in New Delphi, he was greeted by the sight of a familiar stone ceiling. He bolted upright in alarm, the room he was in was one that he wished he _wasn’t_ so acquainted with.

“This is another hallucination,” he said aloud, shutting his eyes tightly. “Just another hallucination.” 

“Oh, I assure you, Alex. This is no hallucination.”

Instead of feeling panic, a strange sort of calm settled over Alex at hearing that unwanted voice. In his previous hallucination, Gabriel had remained silent. Either his hallucinations had become more advanced or . . . this wasn’t an hallucination at all. Neither scenario was appealing. 

Alex swung his legs over the side of the leather sofa in Gabriel’s study, a sofa he had spent many a long hour with the Archangel while Gabriel had tried to decipher the tattoos. The Archangel himself was sitting in his customary place in the matching sofa opposite Alex, his eyes twinkling and his smile unbearably smug. 

“This isn’t real,” he told Gabriel. “There’s no way I can be here.” 

“No?” Gabriel questioned, feigning surprise. “You could be here . . . if this were a dream.” 

Alex immediately grabbed the letter opener on the coffee table in front of him. 

Gabriel’s laugh was delighted and mocking all at once. “Are you going to stab me with a letter opener?” he asked, his amusement plainly evident.

“Pretty sharp for a letter opener,” Alex observed, testing the point on his finger. Then he placed the knife against his jugular. “Thought I’d stab myself with the letter opener,” he told the Archangel. “If this is really a dream and I die, I’ll wake up. That’s generally how dreams work.” 

Suddenly, Gabriel was beside him, wrenching the knife away from his throat. The Archangel’s grip was bruising and Alex was certain that some of his bones were shattering. He released the knife and it fell into Gabriel’s other hand, but still the Archangel didn’t let go of his wrist. Alex grimaced at the pain, but he looked at Gabriel defiantly.

“This isn’t that kind of dream,” Gabriel replied, his voice laced with a menace that Alex hadn’t heard before. “And I think you know that.” 

Just as suddenly Gabriel was gone. The Archangel was sitting placidly in front of Alex again, the twirling letter opener in his hand the only evidence that he’d gone near Alex at all.

“Someone’s put a dampener on you,” Gabriel said idly. “My brother moves quickly,” he said, as though speaking to himself. “But that’s not surprising.” Then he looked at Alex with a sharp, calculating gaze. “What _is_ surprising,” he said slowly, deliberately, “is that a half-complete binding spell would be triggered, so quickly and with such force.” He paused, his smile bordering on cruel. “It got me thinking and none of those thoughts were very pleasant.” 

The Archangel stood up and began to pace, as slowly and deliberately as he spoke. “You see, Alex. There’s only one way for that spell to be triggered, which means you,” he said, pointing at the human, “are with my brother now. The question is ‘how?’” 

Gabriel paused and gave a theatrical sigh. “Obviously, Sammael betrayed me,” he said, answering his own rhetorical question. “He either brought you directly to Michael after your escape from the eyrie, or he created the distraction that allowed you to escape. It doesn’t matter. Betrayal is still betrayal, and he will be punished for it. I had hoped though, that Sammael’s reason would win out over his loyalty to my brother. He and Michael go way back,” Gabriel said off-handedly. “But you must know that by now.”

Alex stayed silent. He was used to Gabriel’s sermonizing. It was a distinct difference between him and Michael. While Michael was reticent (it was a challenge to get anything out of him on a good day), Gabriel was enamored by the sound of his own voice. In this instance, Alex thought he could use that to his advantage. While Gabriel talked, Alex could try and find a way out of this horrible ‘dream,’ but he also had to remain on guard. He couldn’t let anything slip that would put him in further danger, or endanger his allies in New Delphi. But perhaps he could also learn something from Gabriel too. 

“The Flood,” Gabriel stated. “All the human cities that Michael sacked on Father’s command. Blood lust used to flow in my brother’s veins, Alex. And someone had to reap all those human souls.” 

_The Angel of Death_ , Alex mentally supplied. 

“Besties, Michael and Sammael were,” Gabriel said ruefully. “Almost enough to make me jealous.” Then his expression grew hard. “I will hunt Sammael down. I will teach him the price of betrayal.” 

Alex felt his skin prickle in response to Gabriel’s proclamation, but he gave no outward sign of his fear for Sammael. 

“I s’ppose when you’re done with Sammael,” he said calmly. “That you’ll go after me.” 

Gabriel’s smile grew, disturbing and knowing, as he sat down again on the sofa, his arms stretched along the back, one leg crossed over the other in a calculated kind of arrogance. 

“Oh no, Alex,” he replied. “I have no intention of going after you. I don’t have to. You will come to me.”

Alex sighed. “Not that again,” he said, barely reining in his exasperation. 

“This time it’s different,” Gabriel said, obviously delighted. “In fact, I’ll wager that Michael will bring you to me himself.” 

“That’s not gonna happen,” Alex stated flatly.

“Really?” Gabriel’s malevolent joy was starting to grate on Alex, but he managed to remain calm. “You don’t know yet what the spell does.” 

“It’s a binding spell,” Alex snapped. 

“The process, Alex,” Gabriel chided, good-naturedly. “I meant the process.” 

When Alex had no response for that Gabriel arched an eyebrow and spread his hands in an inviting manner, leaning forward in his seat. “Well, then. Let me enlighten you. This,” he said, gesturing to the space of the study, “is _your_ mind seeking out mine. Oh, the dampener made it more difficult for me to call you to have this little chat, but eventually you did succumb to sleep. And every time you close your eyes, Alex. I will be waiting for you.” 

“Guess I’m not going to be getting much sleep then.” 

“You’ll have to sleep sometime,” Gabriel said disinterestedly. “Keep your strength up and all that. And you _will_ need your strength,” he added. “It’s a pity I wasn’t able to finish the spell before Michael spirited you off. Things are going to be much worse for you now. Did my brother tell you that?” 

“He mentioned it,” Alex said through gritted teeth.

“Let me be specific,” Gabriel offered. “See, if I’d completed the spell it would be virtually painless. You’d hardly have noticed the change at all.” 

“Brainwashing?” Alex suggested. 

Gabriel chuckled. “I do appreciate the sense of humor, Chosen One,” he said. “I hope Michael appreciates it half as much as I do.” 

Alex didn’t reply. 

“As I was saying, things are worse for you now,” Gabriel continued. “The spell will complete itself, just slowly and more painfully. Soon you won’t be able to stand Michael’s touch. After that his mere presence will cause you pain. You will yearn for me, Alex. In body and in mind. And it is only when you are with me again that you will find peace.” 

“Michael will find a way to break your spell,” Alex said steadfastly.

“You see, it’s _that_ kind of blind devotion that had me resorting to such drastic measures in the first place!” Gabriel declared in a kind of mocking amazement. “Uriel was right. I would not be able to turn you against my brother. So I needed some help.” 

“This spell was Uriel’s idea.” 

Gabriel’s eyes glinted. “Now what would make you say that?” he asked. 

Alex shrugged. “Blood magic doesn’t seem to be your kind of thing,” he said.

“It’s not really Michael’s ‘thing’ either,” Gabriel pointed out. “Which means Michael also has help.” He waited for Alex to say something and when Alex didn’t, he merely shook his head. “Michael’s allies are of no importance to me right now. All I care about is _you_ , Alex. I, too, can be devoted. The spell will run its course. And if Michael cares for you as much as you believe, he won’t be able to stand your suffering. Michael can’t save you this time.” 

“There is nothing Michael will not do for me,” Alex said defiantly. 

“Oh, I’m counting on that,” Gabriel said with too much satisfaction. 

The Archangel stood up, walking around the coffee table until he was standing in front of Alex. He spread his wings, looking down at Alex in all his majestic glory. 

“You will submit to me, Alex,” he said. “That is all I have ever asked of you. And when that is done, our work will truly begin.”

* * * * *

Alex’s eyes snapped open. He was in New Delphi in the bed he’d fallen asleep in but the sounds and smells of the eyrie still assaulted his senses. Gabriel’s voice was echoing in his mind and his nostrils flared at the incense that had been burning in Gabriel’s study. He sat up, wincing at the unexpected flare of pain that he felt in his right wrist. He looked at his arm and saw the angry bruises where Gabriel had gripped his wrist to force him to drop the letter opener. He ran his fingers over the fresh marks. _It was_ that _kind of dream_ , he thought with dismay.

Without hesitation, Alex got out of bed and walked out of the room, almost running into Furiad in the hallway. 

“I need to see Michael,” he immediately told the Higher Angel.

Furiad did not hesitate to fall into step beside him, but he said as they walked briskly, “He is in a meeting downstairs in the study.” 

“This is important,” Alex replied, and Furiad sensed that it was.

Alex barged into the study without knocking, interrupting the small group composed of Michael, who was standing in front of Ithuriel’s desk, Ithuriel, Marcus, Lucas and Noma. All eyes fell on him. 

“Sorry,” Alex said automatically. He turned to Michael. “A word?” 

Michael nodded. “We’re done here,” he told the others. “You all know what to do.” 

The group disbanded, but as Ithuriel passed by Michael, the Archangel stopped him and said a few quiet words. Ithuriel nodded, giving Alex a small, encouraging smile before he left the room.

“We’re in a lot more trouble than I thought,” Alex said, walking towards the Archangel. Before he could continue, Michael had already zeroed in on the bruise peeking out from under Alex’s shirt. He reached for Alex’s arm and Alex was seized with a brief moment of fear that Michael wouldn’t be able to touch him, that Gabriel’s warning would come true. But nothing happened and he exhaled as Michael pulled back the sleeve of his shirt to examine the dark bruises on his wrist. There was a question in his eyes when he looked at Alex again. 

Alex took a deep breath and then told Michael everything that had just happened. “What are we going to do?” he asked when he was finished. 

“Meditate,” Michael answered. 

“Meditate?” Alex repeated disbelievingly. 

“Meditation will focus and strengthen your mind against Gabriel’s attacks,” Michael said. “Raphael and Eva will continue to pursue the source of the spell, and I have another plan in motion.” 

“What plan is that?” 

“Uriel.” 

“She’s on Gabriel’s side, remember?” 

“Then I will have to convince her otherwise.” 

“You seem very sure of that.”

Michael reached out, placing his hand on the back of Alex’s neck in that familiar, comforting gesture that belonged to him alone. Alex savored the touch, wondering how much longer it would be possible. 

“You were right when you told Gabriel that there is nothing I would not do for you,” he said quietly. “Wait for me in the garden behind the guild house. It is a good place to meditate.” 

“All right,” Alex agreed, reluctantly stepping away. He wasn’t surprised to find Furiad still waiting for him outside the study. He was a little surprised to see Ithuriel with him until he realized that Michael must’ve asked Ithuriel to stay behind. His suspicions were confirmed when the Higher Angel re-entered the study after Alex left. 

“Are you any good at meditation?” Alex asked Furiad as they proceeded to walk to the garden. 

Furiad glanced at him before saying, “It is not my forte.” 

“Really?” Alex asked, genuinely surprised. “But you always seem so calm.”

“That’s because Furiad only has two modes,” Noma said, unexpectedly falling into step beside them. “Calm or crazy beserker.” 

“And which one do you prefer?” Alex teased her. 

Noma shrugged as though she didn’t care, but she was also smiling. “It depends on what we’re doing,” she said. 

Despite the gravity of his situation, Alex laughed.

* * * * *

Ithuriel was agitated, a rare enough feeling, and he briefly rustled his wings in an effort to calm himself before he put them away. 

“I am not questioning your decision, General,” Ithuriel said, the use of Michael’s rank automatically raising the level of formality between them. They were speaking as warriors; not as friends, not as lovers. “I am simply saying that Raphael will be very . . . displeased . . . by this.” 

“I will speak to Raphael first,” Michael answered. “And it may not come to that,” he added. 

“Uriel will not give up those secrets willingly,” Ithuriel insisted. 

“We shall see,” Michael said in a voice that his second-in-command knew all too well. It chilled Ithuriel to think that Michael’s single-minded focus and determination, that his wrath would be turned to one of his own blood. 

“And if she does not?” 

“Then we will capture her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sad to say that I'm back at work, which means I'm not going to have as much time to write. This story is officially on hiatus, but rest assured it won't be abandoned. :)

**Author's Note:**

>  _Dominion_ belongs to Syfy and Vaun Wilmott. No offense is intended, no profit is being made.


End file.
